By focusing very, very hard, I managed to pick out words in the sentence that I understood. "Yes."

"Aye. Gwain ye doon the hill past Arvright's, then when ye see the sheep, ye turn north." The old man pointed to the south.

"Is that north?" Sarah asked in an undertone, looking doubtfully in the direction the man pointed.

"Shh. I'm having enough trouble trying to get through his West Country accent." I turned a cheerful smile on the man. "So, I turn left at the sheep?"

"Aye, 'tis what I am sayin'. Na then, once ye've skurved past they sheep, ye'll come to a zat combe."

"Zat combe?" Sarah's face was fierce with concentration. "I'm not sure I…a zat combe?"

I wrote down the old man's directions, praying we wouldn't end up wandering into someone's yard.

"Aye, 'tis right zat. Full o' varments."

Sarah looked at me. I shrugged and said to the man, "Lots of them, eh?"

Behind my back, Sarah pinched my arm.

"Chikky, too. They needs a good thraipin', but none here'll be doin' it."

"Thraipin'," Sarah said, nodding just as if she understood.

"Well, thraipin' chikky varments is an acquired skill, I've always found," I said, continuing to take notes that made no sense. "So we go through the zat combe with the varments? Then…?"

"Ye be up nap o' thikky hill."

"Ah."

Sarah leaned close. "I recognized a word in that sentence. I think I'm getting the hang of this language. It's good to know that all those years of watching BBC America are paying off."

"And that's where the faery circle is?" I asked the man, trying not to giggle. "Up nap o' thikky hill?"

"Aye." The old man narrowed his eyes and spat neatly to the side. Sarah looked appalled. "Dawn't ye go kickin' up t'pellum on thikky hill."

"We wouldn't dream of it," I promised solemnly.

"Ye maids be master Fanty Sheeny t'gwain ye ta the faery circle. 'Tis naught good ye find up nap o' thikky hill."