nd felt in unison. In all those years they had hardly
been separated for a day. That is no further than a strict quarantine
beneath the same roof had separated them, and that had been entirely
Beverly's doings. At five she began the performance by contracting
whooping-cough; at seven she tried mumps; at nine turned a beautiful
lobster hue from measles, and at eleven capped the climax by scaring the
family nearly to death with scarlet fever, and thereby causing her
grandfather, Admiral Ashby, to exclaim:

"Lord bless my soul, Beverly, you are worse than the potato bugs; they
_do_ skip the fatal second year now and again, but you never let up."

Perhaps this criticism had called a halt in her performances in the line
of contagious diseases, for since the scarlet fever scare she had quit
frightening the family into spasms, and at fifteen was as charming,
healthy, and tantalizing a bit of girlhood as one could wish to see,
though about as much of a tomboy as one could find.

CHAPTER II

WOODBINE

While Beverly Ashby is squabbling good-naturedly with her brother and
chum, suppose we take this opportune moment in which to learn something
about the trio?

Beverly and her brother, Athol, had elected to enter this world exactly
fifteen years and four months prior to the opening of this story. They
also chose the thirteenth of May, 1897, to spring their first surprise
upon their family by arriving together, and had managed to sustain their
reputations for surprising the grownups by never permitting a single year
to pass without some new outbreak, though it must be admitted that
Beverly could certainly claim the greater distinction of the two in that
direction.

"Woodbine," their home, had been the family seat for many generations. It
had seen many a Seldon enter this world and many a one depart from it. It
had witnessed the outgoing of many brides from its broad halls, and seen
many enter to become its mistress. It was a wonderful old place,
beautiful, stately, and so situated upon its wooded upland that it
commanded a magnificent view of the broad valley of Sprucy Stream. Over
against it lay the foothills of the blue, blue mountains, the Blue Ridge
range, and far to the westward the peaks of the Alleghanies peeped above
the Massanutton range nearer at hand.

The valley itself was like a rare painting. The silvery stream running
through the foreground