Inside of a minute we had that piece of trim down from its place.
First, I carefully examined the timber framework behind, expecting
to see traces of the varnish where, presumably, it had seeped
through. There was no sign. Then I inspected the reverse side of
the finish, just behind the peculiar spot. I thought I might see a
region of wide open pores in the grain of the pine. But the back
looked exactly the same as the front, with no difference in the
grain at any place.

Placing the finish right side up, I proceeded to daub the spot
some more. There was no change in the results. At last I took the
can, and without stopping, poured a quart and a half of the fluid
into that paradoxical little area.

"Well I'll be darned!"--very loudly from Johnson. But when I
looked up I saw his face was white, and his lips shaking.

His nerves were all a-jangle. To give his mind a rest, I sent him
for a hatchet. When he came back his face had regained its colour.
I directed him to hold the pine upright, while I, with a single
stroke, sank the tool into the end of the wood.

It split part way. A jerk, and the wood fell in two halves.

"Well?" from Johnson, blankly.

"Perfectly normal wood, apparently." I had to admit that it was
impossible to distinguish the material which constituted the
peculiar spot from that which surrounded it.