ut of the window
again, a feeling of satisfaction possessing her as she realized that
she was again in her beloved South.

On every hand were vast cotton fields, the green plants well above
ground, and flourishing on account of the recent rains. Villages and
hamlets flashed by, as the limited took its onward way toward the
great Maryland city which Dorothy Calvert called her home.

"Oh, Jim, see!" the girl cried, suddenly, gripping her companion's
arm, and pointing out of the window. "There is the old Randolph
plantation. We can't be more than an hour's ride from Baltimore.
Hurrah! I'm so glad!"

"Looks like a 'befor' de war' place," Jim returned, as he viewed the
rickety condition of what had once been one of Maryland's finest
country mansions.

"Yes; the house was built long before the war. It was owned by a
branch of the famous Randolphs, of Virginia, of whom you have heard
and read. Aunt Betty told me the story one night, years ago. I shall
never forget it. There was a serious break in the family and William
Randolph moved his wife and babies away from Virginia, vowing he
would never again set foot in that state. And he kept his word. He
settled on this old plantation, remodeling the house, and adding to
it, until he had one of the most magnificent mansions in the South.
Aunt Betty frequently visited his family when a young girl. That was
many years before the Civil War. When the war finally broke out,
William Randolph had two sons old enough to fight, so sent them to
help swell the ranks of the Confederate Army. One was killed in
battle. The other was with Lee at Appomattox, and came home to settle
down. He finally married, and was living on the old plantation up to
ten years ago, when he died."

"What became of the father?" queried the interested Jim.

"Oh, he died soon after the war, without ever seeing his brothers in
Virginia, they say. The son, Harry Randolph, being of a sunny
disposition, though, finally resolved to let bygones be bygones, and
some years after his father's death, he went to see his relatives in
the other state, where he was received with open arms. How terrible
it must be to have a family feud, Jim!"

"Terrible," nodded the boy.

"Just think how I'd feel if I were to get mad at Aunt Betty and go to
Virginia, or New York to stay, never to see my dear old auntie again
on this earth. Humph! Catch me doing a thing like that? Well, I
reckon not--mo matter how great the provocation!"