It must have been near three when I reached a great grass-grown mound called Culliford Tree, that marks the resting-place of some old warrior of the past.

The top is planted with a clump of trees that cut the skyline, and there I sat awhile to rest.

But not for long, for looking back towards Purbeck, I could see the faint hint of dawn low on the sea-line behind St.Alban's Head, and so pressed forward knowing I had a full ten miles to cover yet.
Thus I travelled on, and soon came to the first sign of man, namely a flock of lambs being fed with turnips on a summer fallow.

The sun was well up now, and flushed all with a rosy glow, showing the sheep and the roots they eat white against the brown earth.

Still I saw no shepherd, nor even dog, and about seven o'clock stood safe on Weatherbeech Hill that looks down over Moonfleet.
There at my feet lay the Manor woods and the old house, and lower down the white road and the straggling cottages, and farther still the Why Not?
and the glassy Fleet, and beyond that the open sea.