Dear old Mrs. Doyne gave Freda her trousseau. It was so dear of her, for we all felt that the marriage destroyed her long-cherished hopes. However, it was fortunate that Freda didn't wait for Alick, for he married the following year, and not long after that our dear old friend died, so that Alick will hardly ever again come to the Valley House. Well, Jim and Freda were married one beautiful September morning, and Esther and I were bridesmaids, so fine in some beautiful gauzy silk stuff which Jim had brought us from London. We were all rather miserable, for Freda was going away so far, and she cried a few tears herself too, though she couldn't help looking as if she were in a seventh heaven all the time. But, as Aline said, it was happiness to know that Freda was safe from the poverty and the fear of having to leave Brandon, which is the lot of the rest of us. I know that Aline's heart is troubled for all her chickens, and in addition to the comfort of feeling that one was safe, I think she had a little hope that Freda, if she was going to be rich, would help with the boys and the twins, for how they are to get their schooling, much less be provided for later, Heaven knows. I remember the last thing I whispered to Freda was: "Be sure and tell me if they have gold plate every day at the Hazeldines'"--for Esther and I had been romancing about the wealth of Jim's people. And she laughed,--though her eyes were full of tears,--and said she would be quite sure to tell me. But she never did, though she wrote long letters to us all, and kept sending us all kinds of useful and beautiful things. She said very little indeed about Sir John and Lady Hazeldine, but we thought it was because she was so very full of Jim, for her letters were nothing but Jim, Jim, Jim, and how good he was to her, and what a happy woman she was. And so it was after they went to India. Then the little boy was born, and we were so excited about him, at least we girls were, for boys can't be expected to care about babies; and Freda sent us a picture of him when he was eight months old, with his Indian nurse, and we thought he was the quaintest and sweetest little thing we had ever seen. Alas!--poor Freda!--that all her palaces should have crumbled into dust. Poor Jim took a chill after playing a fast game of tennis one day, and died almost without warning. I don't like even to think of it, I who had seen the two meet, and the summer of their love begin.