“Is't possible that you have been out for an hour, sir?” she cried. “Surely some man of you was provident to carry with him a compass on such a morn as this?” “You speak too fast, maid; book-learning has made thee talkative; a mariner's compass is for the mariners--it will not work on dry land,” said the old man. “Mine is one of the sort that was discovered since your sensible days, friend--ay, as long agone as that; it works on land as well as on sea. If a bumpkin stands i' the north its finger will point dead to him. Wouldst like to test it thyself?” said Nelly's father. Before the old man had quite grasped his sarcasm, though it was scarcely wanting in breadth, he had turned to Mr. Hartwell, displaying a boat's compass in its wooden box. “'Twas Nelly bade me carry it with us,” he Said. “I worked out all the bearings o' the locality before we started, and I can make the Red Tor as easy as I could steer to any unseen place on the lonely ocean. Here we be, sir; west sou'west to the Gap, track or no track; then west and by nor'-west a little northerly to the lift o' the cliff, thence south-half-east to the Red Tor. Up wi' your grapples, friends, we'll be there before the sermon has begun or even sooner if we step out.” Wesley, and indeed all of the party except perhaps the pessimistic old man, whose garrulity had suffered a check, felt more cheerful. Hartwell clapped Polwhele on the back, saying: “You are the man we were waiting for. Onward, pilot; we shall reach the Tor in good time, despite our false start and the delay it made to us.” They started along the track, Polwhele at their head, and Wesley with Mr. Hartwell and Nelly immediately behind him. “There's a whole sermon in this, child,” said the preacher. “A whole sermon, sir?” said she. “There should be only one sermon preached by man to men, and this is it,” said Wesley. “The poor wandering ones standing on a narrow causeway, with danger on every side, and the grey mist of doubt in the air. The sense of being lost--mark that, dear child,--and then the coming of the good Pilot, and a complete faith in following Him into the place of safety which we all seek. There is no sermon worth the preaching save only this.” On they went, Polwhele calling out the bearings every now and again, and as they proceeded they came upon several other travellers, more or less forlorn--all were hoping to reach the Red Tor in time; so that before the abrupt turn was made from the pack-horse track, there was quite a little procession on the way. Never had Wesley had such an experience as this.