"This is the exact spot for the house," said Polly. "It must face to the
south, with a broad piazza, and the chief entrance must be on the east.
The kitchens and fussy things will be out of sight on the northwest
corner; two stories, a high attic with rooms, and covered all over with
yellow-brown shingles." She had it all settled in a minute.
"What will the paper on your bedroom wall be like?" I asked.
"I know perfectly well, but I shan't tell you."
Seating myself on an out-cropping boulder, I began to study the
geography of the farm. In imagination I stripped it of stock, crops,
buildings, and fences, and saw it as bald as the palm of my hand. I
recited the table of long measure: Sixteen and a half feet, one rod,
perch, or pole; forty rods, one furlong; eight furlongs, one mile. Eight
times 40 is 320; there are 320 rods in a mile, but how much is 16-1/2.
times 320? "Polly, how much is 16-1/2 times 320?"
"Don't bother me now; I'm busy."
(Just as if she could have told in her moment of greatest leisure!) I
resorted to paper and pencil, and learned that there are 5280 feet in
each and every mile.
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