Settings grows when you do. A reader wrote in to say the type in Settings was “too small to be readable by these old eyes” — and he was asking for a control that already existed and had never reached him. MojoPad has had an interface size for a long time, and every window honoured it except one. So somebody who chose Roomy because the type was too small got a bigger app and a Settings window exactly as small as before — the very window they were reading at the time. It scales now, all of it, in the same proportion as everything else, and Compact takes it the other way.
And the explanations under each setting have stopped being fine print. They were the smallest text in the whole app — smaller than the page list, smaller than the prose you write in the editor — which is a strange thing to do to the longest and densest writing MojoPad puts in front of you. The size was not the mistake; the filing was. Those paragraphs had been grouped with the little uppercase headings, which get away with being tiny because they are two or three letterspaced words. A paragraph does not. They are ordinary body text now, and stay in the background by colour rather than by shrinking. The setting itself is the largest thing in its row, because that is what you came to change.
Settings has a search box. Fourteen panes is more than anyone keeps in their head, and this is a window that only ever gains rows. Type what you are after and the panes stop being one-at-a-time: every pane holding a match appears at once, each labelled with its own name so you learn where things live while you look for them, and the setting that matched is marked down its edge. Its neighbours come with it deliberately — a control that arrives on its own, without the sentence explaining it, tells you less than you came for.
You do not have to spell it, and you do not have to know the exact wording. typewrter finds “Typewriter line sits at”. spellng finds “Check spelling while typing”. wordcompletion — no space, and not what it is called — finds “Suggest word completions as I type”. Typing what you half-remember from a description works too, because the explanations are searched as well as the names.
Where the typewriter line sits is yours to choose. Turn on typewriter scrolling and the line you are writing stays put while the page moves underneath it — but where it stays was one fixed spot, chosen by us. Some people want dead centre, some want it lower so more of what they have already written stays in view, some want it higher so there is room to see where the page is going. It is a slider now, in Settings ▸ Editing, anywhere from a quarter of the way down the window to three quarters. Where it always sat is where it starts. (Asked for in those exact terms: “Make that a slider and let people choose.”)
Side by Side gives your screen back. A reader working on a MacBook Air pointed at the bar across the top: he wanted it gone entirely, and “just have small headers which show the title of the page and an ✕ to close the window you don’t want.” He was right, and the bar was worse than merely thick — it announced Side by Side in large type with a sentence explaining what you had just chosen, above two column headers that already named both pages. It told you something you knew, twice, and charged you the height for it on every screen forever.
It is gone. Each column now carries an ✕ beside its own name, and closing one leaves the other page open by itself — which is the honest description of what happens. You are not leaving a mode; you are putting one of two pages down. Point at the ✕ and it names the page you will be left with. Nothing is stranded: a column’s name still opens that page alone, and the View menu still toggles the whole arrangement.
And the margins answer the screen. Two columns each paying separately for generous margins is a comfortable trade on a large display and an expensive one on a laptop — which is exactly where somebody notices that the space they can actually type in is smaller than it needs to be. The columns keep their air narrow where room is short and hold the margins they always had where it is not.
Every count is a door. A reader asked the obvious question twice over: if the masthead says 3 linked here, why does saying so not take me to them — and if the counts along the bottom are worth listing, why can I not click them? Each count is the answer to a question, and the list behind it is the better answer. So each now opens the view it is counting. N linked here opens the pages that point at what you are reading. N pages shows and hides the page list. N links opens the Graph — that number counts every link in the wiki, and a flat list of several hundred is not a readable answer, while the Graph is the same links arranged so you can see them. N today opens Updates, whose Recently Modified list is exactly what it counts.
The masthead count is written to read as part of the sentence rather than as a control bolted into it: it takes the words’ own face and colour, and underlines only when you point at it.
The manual caught up. It had been telling readers to click a button that was removed in this same release, and it had nothing at all to say about the typewriter position, the counts, or searching Settings. All four are written up now, in Folding and Longform, Formatting, and Settings.