"My dear boy, you must be dreaming."
"I am not dreaming. See—the poles are changed."
"Changed!"
My uncle put on his spectacles, examined the instrument, and leaped with joy, shaking the whole house.
A clear light fell upon our minds.
"Here it is!" he cried, as soon as he had recovered the use of his speech, "after we had once passed Cape Saknussemm, the needle of this compass pointed to the southward instead of the northward."
"Evidently."
"Our error is now easily explained. But to what phenomenon do we owe this alteration in the needle?"
"Nothing more simple."
"Explain yourself, my boy. I am on thorns."