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.