'I am not sure about the sort of tree you mean,' said Christopher, 'I see a number of trees with edges shaped like edges of clouds.' 'Ay, ay, they be oaks; I mean the elms to the left hand.' 'But a man can hardly tell oaks from elms at that distance, my good fellow!' 'That 'a can very well--leastwise, if he's got the sense.' 'Well, I think I see what you mean,' said Christopher. 'What next?' 'When you get there, you bear away smart to nor'-west, and you'll come straight as a line to the Lodge.' 'How the deuce am I to know which is north-west in a strange place, with no sun to tell me?' 'What, not know nor-west? Well, I should think a boy could never live and grow up to be a man without knowing the four quarters. I knowed 'em when I was a mossel of a chiel. We be no great scholars here, that's true, but there isn't a Tom-rig or Jack-straw in these parts that don't know where they lie as well as I. Now I've lived, man and boy, these eight-and-sixty years, and never met a man in my life afore who hadn't learnt such a common thing as the four quarters.' Christopher parted from his companion and soon reached a stile, clambering over which he entered a park. Here he threaded his way, and rounding a clump of aged trees the young man came in view of a light and elegant country-house in the half-timbered Gothic style of the late revival, apparently only a few years old. Surprised at finding himself so near, Christopher's heart fluttered unmanageably till he had taken an abstract view of his position, and, in impatience at his want of nerve, adopted a sombre train of reasoning to convince himself that, far from indulgence in the passion of love bringing bliss, it was a folly, leading to grief and disquiet--certainly one which would do him no good. Cooled down by this, he stepped into the drive and went up to the house. 'Is Mrs. Petherwin at home?' he said modestly. 'Who did you say, sir?' He repeated the name. 'Don't know the person.' 'The lady may be a visitor--I call on business.' 'She is not visiting in this house, sir.' 'Is not this Arrowthorne Lodge?' 'Certainly not.' 'Then where is Arrowthorne Lodge, please?' 'Well, it is nearly a mile from here. Under the trees by the high-road. If you go across by that footpath it will bring you out quicker than by following the bend of the drive.' Christopher wondered how he could have managed to get into the wrong park; but, setting it down to his ignorance of the difference between oak and elm, he immediately retraced his steps, passing across the park again, through the gate at the end of the drive, and into the turnpike road. No other gate, park, or country seat of any description was within view. 'Can you tell me the way to Arrowthorne Lodge?' he inquired of the first person he met, who was a little girl. 'You are just coming away from it, sir,' said she. 'I'll show you; I am going that way.'