236 Old Days on the Farm 



average man about the water-finding art and he'd 

 reply right quick: ''It's all bosh, there's nothing 

 to it!" 



But there are others who hold affirmative views 

 and I'm one of these. As a small boy I watched 

 an old grey-bearded man work the forked stick on 

 several occasions with marked success. On a high 

 and dry farm, near my home, several wells had 

 been dug, but failed to give water, and the services 

 of the water-finder were at length engaged. A 

 few yards from the corner of the farmhouse the 

 old man stopped after frequent criss-crossing of 

 directions. 



*' Eight here, Henry, you'll find a mighty strong 

 spring at about twenty or twenty-four feet," said 

 the old man. And Henry did. I was right on the 

 spot watching the digging operations and at a 

 little over twenty feet an underground stream was 

 struck that flowed water like a fire-hose under 

 eighty-pound pressure, and it filled that well clear 

 to the top. I was converted to a belief in well- 

 finding right there and I've remained converted 

 ever since. 



Just luck, you say, that he found that fine flow- 

 ing spring. Well, have it your own way but you 

 can't get Henry or I to change our views. 

 Henry, you see, had dug those several dry holes 

 and I saw him working at them. 



I've heard the unfaithful say, "Why, those old 



chaps just found out, somehow, about where a man 



.wanted a well on his farm and wiggled the stick 



