I cannot tell you who Saunders was, nor why the watering-place was called after his foot.

But if you walk steadily away from it for five miles inland, along the white chalky road between the downs, you will arrive at the little village of Barford.
There is only one road, so you cannot miss your way.

Little twisty lanes fretted with sheep-tracks drop down into it now and then from the broad-shouldered downs on either side, but take no notice of them.

If you persevere, you will in due course see the village of Barford lying in front of you, which, at a little distance, looks as if it had been carelessly swept into a crease between the downs, while a few cottages and houses on the hillside seem to have adhered to the ground, and remained stuck where they were when the sweeping took place.
After you have passed the pond and the post office, and before you reach the school, you will see a lodge, and an old Italian iron gateway, flanked by a set of white wooden knobs planted in the ground on either side, held together by chains.

The white knobs are apparently there in order to upset carriages as they drive in or out.