"Does everyone in the South run away to get married? Don't you ever have any legitimate weddings with cake and rice and old shoes?" As I spoke I remembered Nannie and wondered if I had touched on a delicate subject. But Radnor returned my laugh. "We do have a good many elopements," he acknowledged. "Maybe there are more cruel parents in the South." Then he suddenly sobered. "I suppose you remember Nan?" he inquired with an air of hesitation. "A little," I assented. "Poor girl!" he said. "I'm afraid she had a pretty tough time. You'd best not mention her to the old gentleman--or Jeff either." "Does the Colonel still feel hard toward them?" Radnor frowned slightly. "He doesn't forgive," he returned. "What was the trouble with Jeff?" I ventured. "I have never heard any particulars." "He and my father didn't agree. I don't remember very much about it myself; I was only thirteen when it happened. But I know there was the devil of a row." "Do you know where he is?" I asked. Radnor shook his head. "I sent him some money once or twice, but my father found it out and shut down on my bank account. I've lost track of him lately--he isn't in need of money though. The last I heard he was running a gambling place in Seattle." "It's a great pity!" I sighed. "He was a fine chap when I knew him." Radnor echoed my sigh but he did not choose to follow up the subject, and we passed the rest of the way in silence until we turned into the lane that led to Four-Pools. After the manner of many Southern places the house was situated well toward the middle of the large plantation, and entirely out of sight from the road. The private lane which led to it was bordered by a hawthorn hedge, and wound for half a mile or so between pastures and flowering peach orchards. I delightedly breathed in the fresh spring odors, wondering meanwhile how it was that I had let that happy Virginia summer of my boyhood slip so entirely from my mind. As we rounded a clump of willow trees we came in sight of the house, set on a little rise of ground and approached by a rolling sweep of lawn. It was a good example of colonial--white with green blinds, the broad brick floored veranda, which extended the length of the front, supported by lofty Doric columns. On the south side a huge curved portico bulged out to meet the driveway. Stretching away behind the house was a sleepy box-bordered garden, and behind this, screened by a row of evergreens, were clustered the barns and out-buildings. Some little distance to the left, in a slight hollow and half hidden by an overgrowth of laurels, stood a row of one-story weather-beaten buildings--the old negro cabins, left over from the slave days. "It's just as I remember it!" I exclaimed delightedly as I noted one familiar object after another. "Nothing has changed." "Nothing does change in the South," said Radnor, "except the people, and I suppose they change everywhere."