After some minutes of silent contemplation, the Squire began to point out the leading features, the hills and valleys, and told where the towns and villages lay. “Now,” he said, “with the glasses you’ll be able to pick out Fulnaker Abbey. Take a line across that big green field, then over the wood beyond it, then over the farm on the knoll.” “Yes, yes,” said Fanshawe. “I’ve got it. What a fine tower!” “You must have got the wrong direction,” said the Squire; “there’s not much of a tower about there that I remember, unless it’s Oldbourne Church that you’ve got hold of. And if you call that a fine tower, you’re easily pleased.” “Well, I do call it a fine tower,” said Fanshawe, the glasses still at his eyes, “whether it’s Oldbourne or any other. And it must belong to a largish church--it looks to me like a central tower; four big pinnacles at the corners, and four smaller ones between. I must certainly go over there. How far is it?” “Oldbourne’s about nine miles, or less,” said the Squire. “It’s a long time since I’ve been there, but I don’t remember thinking much of it. Now I’ll show you another thing.” Fanshawe had lowered the glasses, and was still gazing in the Oldbourne direction. “No,” he said, “I can’t make out anything with the naked eye. What was it you were going to show me?” “A good deal more to the left--it oughtn’t to be difficult to find. Do you see a rather sudden knob of a hill with a thick wood on top of it? It’s in a dead line with that single tree on the top of the big ridge.” “I do,” said Fanshawe, “and I believe I could tell you without much difficulty what it’s called.” “Could you now?” said the Squire. “Say on.” “Why, Gallows Hill,” was the answer. “How did you guess that?” “Well, if you don’t want it guessed, you shouldn’t put up a dummy gibbet and a man hanging on it.” “What’s that?” said the Squire abruptly. “There’s nothing on that hill but wood.” “On the contrary,” said Fanshawe, “there’s a largish expanse of grass on the top and your dummy gibbet in the middle; and I thought there was something on it when I looked first. But I see there’s nothing--or is there? I can’t be sure.” “Nonsense, nonsense, Fanshawe, there’s no such thing as a dummy gibbet, or any other sort, on that hill. And it’s thick wood--a fairly young plantation. I was in it myself not a year ago. Hand me the glasses, though I don’t suppose I can see anything.” After a pause: “No, I thought not: they won’t show a thing.”