“You’m mad, the two of you,” said his aunt with a sigh.
Edwin and his uncle went out into the garden, and there the boy watched the gardener’s clumsy, skilful hands cut a forked twig from a blackthorn bush.
“Hazel do work as well,” he said, “but father always used the thorn.”
Then they went out together over a dewy meadow, and his uncle showed him how to hold the rod: with his two hands turned palm upwards, the arms of the twig between the third and fourth fingers, the thumb, and the palm of each hand, and the fork downwards between them. Over the meadow grass they walked slowly, then suddenly the tip of the rod began to turn upwards by no agency of which Edwin was aware. It was very thrilling, for his hands were quite still.
“There you are,” said his uncle, “you’ve a found our water-pipe.”
“Hold the rod down, uncle,” Edwin said.
He did so, and now the mysterious force was so strong that the arms of the twig snapped.
“Now, you’ve gone and broke it,” said Uncle Will. “Come in or you’ll catch cold.”
They went in together.
“Well . . .?” said Mr. Ingleby.