He thought hard a moment, then turned and strode over to a heap of
friable disintegration that lay where once his instrument case had
stood, containing his surveying tools.

Down on his ragged knees he fell; his rotten shreds of clothing tore
and ripped at every movement, like so much water-soaked paper.

A strange, hairy, dust-covered figure, he knelt there. Quickly he
plunged his hands into the rubbish and began pawing it over and over
with eager haste.

"Ah!" he cried with triumph. "Thank Heaven, brass and lenses haven't
crumbled yet!"

Up he stood again. In his hand the girl saw a peculiar telescope.

"My 'level,' see?" he exclaimed, holding it up to view. "The wooden
tripod's long since gone. The fixtures that held it on won't bother me
much.

"Neither will the spirit-glass on top. The main thing is that the
telescope itself seems to be still intact. Now we'll see."

Speaking, he dusted off the eye-piece and the objective with a bit of
rag from his coat-sleeve.

Beatrice noted that the brass tubes were all eaten and pitted with
verdigris, but they still held firmly. And the lenses, when Stern had
finished cleaning them, showed as bright and clear as ever.