why should any one be given all this
trouble? There is a famous well near, named after St. John the Baptist,
the water of which was once used for all the christenings. It is not
very easily found, and the local harvesters could tell me nothing about
it; but I discovered it near a farmhouse a few hundred yards south-west
of the churchyard. Aubrey says that the dedication of the well made him
curious to try it with oak-galls, which turned the water purple. Why
should the name have impelled him to this particular curiosity? Aubrey
was always testing wells with oak-galls, presumably for iron. Like many
other famous wells, the water of this spring has always been said to be
"colder in summer and warmer in winter" than any other spring in the
neighbourhood.

Some of the names in this part of Surrey are curious. Cuckoo Hill, on
the borders of Bagshot Heath, is pretty enough, and so is Gracious Pond,
north-west of Chobham, though the Pond, which was once "great" and
"stocked with excellent carp," is probably much smaller than it was.
Brock Hill, near Cuckoo Hill, is of course the hill of badgers, and
Penny Pot ought to be, if it is not, a memory of good ale. But
Donkeytown! Who would live at Donkeytown? It is, however, quite a
flourishing little community, though probably it will be eventually
embraced by its larger neighbour, West End, which is the nearest village
to Bisley to the north, and the largest. Looking at the map, it is a
little difficult to understand why the cheaper forms of village building
should spread in this part of the county, which, so to speak, leads
nowhere: but possibly the presence of the Gordon Boys' Home has created
fresh needs which must be supplied locally. The large buildings, which
cost some L24,000, were set up here in 1885, and are a home for 200
boys.

Between Bisley and Chobham runs a road with rather an odd feature. For a
short distance near Chobham village the little Hale Bourne, into which
the Windle Brook has here grown, runs beside it, dark and full, but
almost invisible under its overarching alders and dog-roses. Just as it
leaves the roadside it is joined by a strange companion. Another little
stream, coming down from the north, runs into the Hale Bourne after
travelling the last hundred yards of its course over the whole breadth
of a road. The road, which is of gravel, and regularly used, is hard and
level, and the stream turns it into a bed, perhaps eight or nine feet
across. The na