True North

I found an antique brass pocket compass resting flat on the sunny porch railing. Peeking through the scratched glass lens, I noticed the slender blued-steel needle was locked in place by a tiny brass catch. Grasping the knurled toggle with both gloved hands, I clicked the release slider downward. The needle sprang free instantly, bobbing gently on its tiny pivot before swinging toward the open horizon to point dead north! To test its rotational resistance, I gripped the heavy casing and rotated it ninety degrees clockwise. The brass dial spun underneath, but the needle held perfectly still, floating true against the magnetic pull without a single shudder.