THE DIGGERS OF WELLS

A rumour was going on that guys were coming from somewhere that dig wells.
   "That's right; they will appear any minute now! But where are they coming to? "First, the women became alarmed. "To which village? Nobody knows…"
    But there is no smoke without fire; the rumour was held, so they will come. People started talking about how they ought to dig a new common well. "We have a need, but where are they now? They are coming. They're coming."
   Time goes, too. "Have not come yet?" asked passers-by of the neighbouring villages a month later. "Not yet - tell the neighbours. -"But they are near." So near, be it. Time can wait. It has been another month. "Have you seen them?" "Should be here any hour."...We were waiting for spring, but the haymaking time was over. "Okay, let's sit on it," - says the end of the village closer to a river. "No, we will not sit on it!" - protesting others.
   Finally, once early in the morning, after the Epiphany day, three diggers appeared. Their belongings are limited: two spades, three axes, the saw and a thick rope to descend to multi-yard depth. Because of the long wait, people did not negotiate too long with the diggers. They agreed immediately. The workers asked for a deposit. One, apparently, the eldest walked a half-hour down the street searching for a water vein. He stopped near the stone and said firmly: "Here." On the same day, they began to dig, dropping to start a small five-row well housing. Work started. Two on the top build the blockhouse; another at the bottom undermines and puts it deeper. It was set up to pull out the bucket with the earth with a rope. When the depth of seven feet was reached, the elderly began to ask: - "What, how far is water?" - "There will be water soon." Here, here. Already, it is wet. On the second day, the voice from the well could be barely heard. People ask: - Well? Is there water? - Close already... All day spent digging. In the morning, before the sunrise, someone came to check out. Guys were not neither on the surface of the earth nor under it. Diggers are gone; even they left behind the work mittens. They were lying forlornly on the common, upside-down tub. Someone kicked the tub; it blurted out and rolled aside ... It was found that they were masters of digging ditches, not wells.
   After such an experience, the community with great mistrust regarded honest workmen, who, without thinking twice, continued on to the next village. We have to run after them to the edge of the town to persuade them to stay...And now, a gray-haired old man, an unofficial leader of the digger's gang, rattles with the nail at the snuffbox, coughs, and glances. Before the sun, he walks along the back streets in the morning, looking where dew has fallen, where and how midge buzzes, and where and what kind of grass grew. Make estimates, coughs. He is not in a hurry. It's about these old people. There is a saying that they can see three yards down the earth. The wells dug under their leadership served people not for decades but centuries.