by Jules Verne
"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."
"During the storm, upon the Central Sea, the ball of fire which made a magnet of the iron in our raft, turned our compass topsy-turvy."
"Ah!" cried the Professor, with a loud and ringing laugh, "it was a trick of that inexplicable electricity."
From that hour my uncle was the happiest of learned men, and I the happiest of ordinary mortals. For my pretty Virland girl, abdicating her position as ward, took her place in the house in King Street (Königstrasse) in the double quality of niece and wife.
We need scarcely mention that her uncle was the illustrious Professor Hardwigg, corresponding member of all the scientific, geographical, mineralogical, and geological societies of the five quarters of the globe.
| Go to Contents |
