CHAPTER IV.
THE SEARCH FOR WATER
It will readily be imagined that the "dowser," as he called himself, was not allowed to go on his quest accompanied only by Mr. Barlow. He was followed, as was only natural, at a fairly respectable distance, by by a selection of all the idle boys and girls in Willowton, and for once Geo Lummis had deserted his friends on the bridge, and followed the little crowd leisurely in the rear, with his hands in his pockets, and his hat tilted at the back of his head.
The water-finder carried in his hand a freshly-cut hazel rod, which he had brought from Mr. Barlow's garden. It was about two feet long, and forked at one end. He held it, point downwards, straight in front of him, with a "prong" in each hand, and he walked at a fair pace, his eyes fixed on the rod, and preserving a dead silence.
As he went the little procession followed him up the main street over the bridge nearly as far as Gravel-pit Lane. Here the lookers-on noticed the hazel twig jerk outwards unmistakably. Mr. Barlow, who was walking abreast of him, sent an inquiring glance at him.
"Only drain water," said the dowser laconically, without slackening his pace.
A few more steps brought him to the bottom of Gravel-pit Lane, and Annie Chapman, with a tribe of dirty, bright-eyed children clinging to her bedraggled skirts, came out to see the fun. The sun had gone in, and a sort of thick heat-mist pervaded everything. It was the sort of afternoon that during any other summer than that of 1901 would have ended in a thunderstorm; but it seemed as if the clouds had forgotten how to rain, and the parched ground looked thirstier than ever, while an unsavoury drainy smell rose from the cluster of infected houses.
In the garden of the Chapman's house was a condemned well, now, fortunately perhaps, dry. A wooden cover was over the brickwork, and it was safely padlocked. Annie and her brood rested against this as they watched the dowser advancing.
He made straight for her gate. At a sign from her one of the children opened it, and he and Mr. Barlow passed through; the crowd remained outside. The door into the untidy sitting-room was open, and without a "with your leave" or "by your leave" the water-finder passed in, the twig jerking violently all the time. Annie coloured, and sprang towards the house. Mr. Barlow, who was following mechanically, stopped. "An Englishman's house is his castle." He waited for permission. Annie was always hospitable in spite of what to her was a sudden inexplicable feeling of shame that the gentlemen should see what a pigsty the house was. She smiled, however, as she held open the door, and drew her fairly clean apron as far over her dress as she could.
"Go you in, sir," she said; "though God a'mighty knows what he's after there, I don't."