"I have made the best amends I could for that mistake, by apologizing to you for it, Mr. Peakslow. I don't keep the compass in my hand because I am afraid it may be stolen. I have called—as I promised Mrs. Peakslow the other day that I would do—to give her a noon-mark on her kitchen floor."
"How's this?—promised her?—I don't understand that!" growled Peakslow.
"Yes, pa!" said Mrs. Peakslow, with a frightened look. "I seen him to Mis' Betterson's. He'd made a noon-mark for Mis' Wiggett, and Mis' Betterson's sister asked me if I wouldn't like one, as he was comin' to make them one some day."
Off went Peakslow's hat, and into his bushy hair went his fingers again, while he stammered out,—
"But he can't make no noon-mark this arternoon,—we're all in a mess an' litter, so!"
"Just as well now as any time," said Jack. "The doorway is clear. I sha'n't interfere with anybody."
"What'll be to pay?" Peakslow asked.
"O, I don't charge anything for a little job like this,—to one of Mr. Betterson's neighbors."
"That's jes' so; he didn't charge me nary red," said Mr. Wiggett. "An' he's done the job for me now tew times,—fust time, the tornado come and put the noon-mark out o' j'int, 'fore ever a noon come round."
Jack adjusted his compass, while the house-raisers looked on, to see how the thing was done, Peakslow appearing as much interested as anybody.