“We will send up a kite, and thus get a string across the pond,” said one of the citizens.
“I can ascertain the distance easier than that,” said Paul.
Mr. Pimpleberry, the carpenter, who was to build the bridge, laughed, and looked with contempt upon him, Paul thought, because he was barefoot and had a patch on each knee.
“Have you ever measured it, Paul?” Judge Adams asked.
“No, sir; but I will do so just to let Mr. Pimpleberry see that I can do it.”
He ran into the house, brought out the compass, went down to the edge of the pond, drove a small stake in the ground, set his compass over it, and sighted a small oak-tree upon the other side of the pond. It happened that the tree was exactly south from the stake; then he turned the sights of his compass so that they pointed exactly east and west. Then he took Mr. Pimpleberry's ten-foot pole, and measured out fifty feet toward the west, and drove another stake. Then he set his compass there, and took another sight at the small oak-tree across the pond. It was not south now, but several degrees east of south. Then he turned his compass so that the sights would point just the same number of degrees to the east of north.
“Now, Mr. Pimpleberry,” said Paul, “I want you to stand out there, and hold your ten-foot pole just where I tell you, putting yourself in range with the stake I drove first and the tree across the pond.”
Mr. Pimpleberry did as he was desired.
“Drive a stake where your pole stands,” said Paul.
Mr. Pimpleberry thrust a splinter into the ground.