The twins were christened Athol Seldon Ashby and Beverly Turner Ashby before they had fully decided that they were really American citizens, and for seven years no happier household could have been found in the state. Then another calamity visited it. Turner Ashby was killed in a railway accident while north on a business trip. It was a frightful blow to the home in which he was adored by every member, from the Admiral straight down to the blackest little piccaninny upon the estate, and to make it, if possible, more tragic, all that ever came back to Woodbine was the seal ring he had worn, picked up in the charred ruins of the parlor coach. More than eight years had passed since that tragedy, and those years had changed Mary Ashby from a light-hearted, happy young wife and joyous mother to a quiet, dignified woman. Never again did her children find in her the care-free, romping play-fellow they had always known, though she never ceased to be the gentle, tender mother. And how they missed it. They were too young to fully appreciate their loss, though they grieved deeply for the tall, handsome, golden-haired, blue-eyed father who had been their jolly comrade, riding, romping with them, rowing, playing all manner of games, and always ready to relate some thrilling tale, and who, after eleven years of married life, had remained as much their mother's lover as upon the day he married her. Indeed, all the countryside mourned for Turner Ashby, for such a personality could not be snatched from its environment without leaving a terrible blank for many years. Athol was like him in character, but not the least in personal appearance, for both children were Seldon from the crowns of their dark heads to the tips of their small feet. Their chum, and inseparable companion, Archie Carey, might more readily have been taken for Turner Ashby's son: he was so tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Two years their senior and living upon the adjacent estate of "Uplands," he had grown up in an uninterrupted companionship with Athol and Beverly, and was regarded by them very much as an elder brother so far as camaraderie went, though by no means accorded an older brother's privileges by Miss Beverly. Indeed, she was more often the leading spirit in the fun, frolics or scrapes into which they were constantly plunging, as for example the one alluded to in the opening chapter. But that must have a chapter all to itself. CHAPTER III FROM THE DORMER WINDOW Woodbine, as has been said, lay about two miles from Four Corners, the road leading to the post office clearly visible for almost its entire length.