me South. As I had no prospect of leaving New York, I
thought nothing of it at the time; but now I determined to take the old
gentleman at his word, and spend my enforced vacation in getting
acquainted with my Virginia relatives.

This plan struck Terry as just one degree funnier than the fishing
expedition. The doctor, however, received the idea with enthusiasm. A
farm, he said, with plenty of outdoor life and no excitement, was just
the thing I needed. But could he have foreseen the events which were to
happen there, I doubt if he would have recommended the place for a
nervous man.

CHAPTER II

I ARRIVE AT FOUR-POOLS PLANTATION

As I rolled southward in the train--"jerked" would be a fitter word; the
roadbeds of western Virginia are anything but level--I strove to recall
my old time impressions of Four-Pools Plantation. It was one of the big
plantations in that part of the state, and had always been noted for its
hospitality. My vague recollection of the place was a kaleidoscopic
vision of music and dancing and laughter, set in the moonlit background
of the Shenandoah Valley. I knew, however, that in the eighteen years
since my boyhood visit everything had changed.

News had come of my aunt's death, and of Nan's runaway marriage against
her father's wishes, and of how she too had died without ever returning
home. Poor unhappy Nannie! I was but a boy of twelve when I had seen
her last, but she had impressed even my unimpressionable age with a
sense of her charm. I had heard that Jeff, the elder of the two boys,
had gone completely to the bad, and having broken with his father, had
drifted off to no one knew where. This to me was the saddest news of
all; Jeff had been the object of my first case of hero worship.

I knew that Colonel Gaylord, now an old man, was living alone with
Radnor, who I understood had grown into a fine young fellow, all that
his brother had promised. My only remembrance of the Colonel was of a
tall dark man who wore riding boots and carried a heavy trainer's whip,
and of whom I was very much afraid. My only remembrance of Rad was of a
pretty little chap of four, eternally in mischief. It was with a mingled
feeling of eagerness and regret that I looked forward to the
visit--eagerness to see again the scenes which were so pleasantly
associated with my boyhood, and regret that I must renew my memories
under such sadly changed conditions.

As I stepped from the train, a tall broad-shou