Willard gripped harder and circled about the green sweater. Once, possibly because his muscles were so tense, he thought he felt a tremor, but, when he turned and went back over the spot, the phenomenon was not repeated. “Look here,” he asked, “what do you want to find water for, anyway? There’s a whole river just full of it down there.”
“I wanted to see if I could do it,” answered the other.
“Oh!” Willard looked at the witch-hazel wand in his hands and down the gently sloping meadow. “Let’s go down there and try it,” he suggested finally.
“Very well.” Side by side, Willard still holding the water-finder, the two went down the hill. Willard’s countenance, although he didn’t know it, wore an expression of concentration and expectancy. At the foot of the hill his companion seated himself on a rock and Willard began a systematic exploration of the surrounding territory. When ten minutes or so had passed it dawned on him that he was extremely warm and that, while there was bound to be water underground, since the river was not far distant and very little lower, the forked stick had absolutely failed to register even a tremor of interest! He joined the youth in the green sweater and handed the stick to him in disgust.
“That’s no good,” he said. “Why, I could find water two feet from here if I had a shovel! That’s just bunk!”
“I suppose you and I haven’t the right powers of divination,” replied the other composedly. “I’ll try again some day with a piece of willow.”
Willard said “Humph!” as he seated himself on the rock, and a minute’s silence ensued. Then: “I’ve seen you at school, haven’t I?” Willard asked.
“I presume so. My name is McNatt, and I’m in Upton. What is your class?”