seemed to fascinate the bit of hazel, for it could not pass
over that spot without bending down and pointing to it.

My thoughts reverted at once to Jacques Aymar and
Dousterswivel, as I perceived that these men were engaged in
sorcery. During the long drought more than half the wells in
the village had become dry, and here was an attempt to make
good the loss by the aid of the god Thor. These men were
seeking water with a divining-rod. Here, alive before my eyes,
was a superstitious observance, which I had supposed long
since dead and forgotten by all men except students interested
in mythology.

As I crossed the road to take part in the ceremony a farmer's
boy came up, stoutly affirming his incredulity,

and offering to show the company how he could carry the rod
motionless across the charmed spot. But when he came to take
the weird twig he trembled with an ill-defined feeling of
insecurity as to the soundness of his conclusions, and when he
stood over the supposed rivulet the rod bent in spite of
him,--as was not so very strange. For, with all his vague
scepticism, the honest lad had not, and could not be supposed
to have, the foi scientifique of which Littre speaks.[23]

[23] "Il faut que la coeur devienne ancien parmi les aneiennes
choses, et la plenitude de l'histoire ne se devoile qu'a celui
qui descend, ainsi dispose, dans le passe. Mais il faut que
l'esprit demeure moderne, et n'oublie jamais qu'il n'y a pour
lui d'autre foi que la foi scientifique.'--LITTRS.