I knowed whar de line went,
'ca'se I he'p Marsa John caarry de spy-glass when he sold de woodlan's
to Jedge Barbour, an' de coon was on our side ob dat line."
If Chad's first statement caused nothing but laughter, the second
produced nothing but the profoundest interest.
Here was the surveyor himself!
The colonel turned the map to Chad's side of the table. Every man in
the room stood up and craned his head forward.
"Now, Chad," said the colonel, "this map is a plan of our lan'--same
as if you were lookin' down on it. Here is the road to Caartersville.
See that square, black mark? That's Caarter Hall. This is the marsh,
and that is the coal hill. Now, standin' here in the marsh,--this is
where our line begins, Fitz,--standin' here, Chad, in the marsh, which
side of the line is that hill on? Mine or Jedge Barbour's?"
The old man bent over the table, and scanned the plan closely.
"Wat's dis blue wiggle lookin' like a big fish-wum?"
"That's the Tench River."
Chad continued his search, his wrinkled brown hand, with its extended
forefinger capped by its stumpy nail, looking for all the world like
a mud turtle with head out crawling over the crumpled surface of the
map.
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