“We are bound for the preaching,” said one of them. “What a wandering we have had for the past two hours! We lost our way twice and only recovered ourselves when we gained the horse road.” “We are going to the preaching also,” said Mr. Hartwell. “How then does it come that we meet you instead of overtaking you?” asked the other. There was a silence. The halloa in the distance became fainter. “One of us must be wrong,” said Wesley. “We don't match our knowledge against Mr. Hartwell's,” said the spokesman of the strangers. “I am confident that I know the way,” said Mr. Hartwell. “I only left the main track once, and that was to cut off the round at Stepney's Gap.” “On we go then, with blessings on your head, sir,” said the other man. “Friends, where should we ha' landed ourselves if we had fallen short of our luck in coming right on Mr. Hartwell? Would we not do kindly to give a halloa or twain to help those poor hearts that may be wandering wild?” he added, pointing in the direction whence the hail seemed to come. “Ay, 'twould be but kind,” said an old man of the party. “Oh, 'tis a dread and grisly mishap to be wandering wild in an unknown country.” Forthwith the younger ones sent out answering hails to the halloas that came to them. But when the next sounds reached their ears like echoes of their own shouts, it seemed that they came from quite another quarter. “I could ha' taken my davy that the lost ones was off another point o' the compass,” said the old man. “No, Comyn,” said another. “No, my man, they came from thither.” He pointed straight in front of him. “From where we stand that should be the Gap,” said Mr. Hartwell. “A special comfortable place to be wandering wild in is the Gap, for if you walk straight on it carries you to the mighty ocean, and if you walk back you will reach your own home safe, if it be in that direction,” said the old man with emphasis. “Was this mist far up the valley?” Wesley enquired. “Not more than a league, sir,” replied the old man. “'Twas a sunlit morn when we made our start, and then it came down on us like a ship in full sail. There goes another hail, and, as I said, it comes from behind us. Is there one of us that has a clear throat. 'Kish Trevanna, you was a gallery choir singer in your youth, have you any sound metallic notes left that you could cheer up the lost ones withal? Come, goodman, be not over shy. Is this a time to be genteel when a parson's of the company, waiting to help and succour the vague wanderers?” “The call is for thee, Loveday, for didst not follow the hounds oft when there was brisk work in Squire's coverts?” said the man to whom the appeal was made. “We must hasten onward,” said Mr. Hartwell, making a start. “'Tis most like that we are overtaking whomsoever it be that was shouting a hail. Forward, friends, and feel your way to the pack-horse road.”