_From Mrs. Baines to her son John._ Tilehurst, _October_ 14, 1887. MY DEAR SON,— I suppose a mother must expect to come off _second_ best when her son marries and I ought to think myself lucky to hear from you once a year. But I confess I was put out in the summer only to get news of you through Lucy’s mother. However, your letter written August 3, after Lucy had joined you at Hangodi, came to hand a few days ago. You must have had a terrible time getting her up-country. She seems so feckless and born to trouble. As though wild beasts and accidents sought her out. I’ve just had a line from Ann Jamblin. _She’s_ got her head screwed on the right way. She left a month after Lucy and yet reached your station nearly as soon as you did. She didn’t need to hang about that place—I can’t spell its name—where you got married, and, she travelled up-country, she says, in record time with a missionary lady, a Mrs. Stott. She didn’t fall off her donkey or have a lion in her tent or get ant all over her or turn sick every few weeks. Nor yet have herself looked after by free-thinking captains on the voyage out. But there. You’ve made your bed as the saying is and you must lie on it. It’s far from my wish to come between husband and wife, and I’m glad Ann’s gone to your station. She’ll have a steadying influence on Lucy and be a great comfort to you and your companions. I suppose by now she’s married to your friend Anderson. If so he’ll have got a good wife and her bit of money will be a help. Father’s as well as he’s ever likely to be. He suffers from brash, a sure sign of overeating.