I pick up my dowsing stick where I left it on the ground and head out into the field. I forgot my hat again, but I don’t go back.

The sky is blue with clouds moving across and the wind blows in my face. I remember what Lincoln said.

I think about the water.

Huge pools of fresh water running below layers of rock. Aquifers filled with water thousands of years old.

I walk and I walk. I hear the cawing of crows and see them land in a tree behind the school, black shapes filling the bare branches. I think about what’s under my feet: topsoil, sand, clay, and then the cracks in the bedrock where water flows.

Suddenly, there’s a vibration in my hands. The stick is pulling me ahead, leading me. I feel a warmth in my hands and arms, like the stick is alive. The feeling gets so strong I have to grip hard to keep it between my palms and curled fingers.

I take one more step and the stick moves sharply down toward the ground.

“Stay right there!” Lincoln yells. He’s leaning against the rig watching me. He runs over to where I’m standing and hammers a metal rod into the ground at the spot where the stick pointed down.

“Wow! I felt it. I really did,” I tell him. “It felt like the stick was showing me where to go.”

“Yes, and you paid attention,” Lincoln says.

“I kept thinking about the water like you said and then it pulled right down.”

Lincoln checks that the rod is secure in the ground and hammers it one more time.

“From how hard the stick went down, it could be a good vein of water, if we can reach it,” he says.

There isn’t anything in the book about dowsing or the book about water or the D encyclopedia that tells how it feels for the stick to come alive. I can still feel the sensation of the stick pulling me forward. I know what Lincoln meant when he said he felt like his hands and arms were extensions of the stick.

Now I also understand why Dad couldn’t describe how to do it—because what happened was almost indescribable. I don’t know if there’s a scientific explanation, but my hands were more than hands, the stick was more than a stick. It was the most amazing feeling!

Lincoln sets up the drilling rig next to the metal rod and connects the hose from the tanker truck that lubricates the drill as it rotates and pulverizes its way down. Then he digs a ditch for the runoff. Cars pull over on Main Street, and people get out and watch.

“Okay, Henry, now’s the time to try your idea.” Lincoln points to the metal drill bit at the bottom of the rig.