"Harry's father is going to build us a little house on the big place,
the darling," wrote Julie; "and we will stay with them until it is
done. But in five years Harry says we will have a real honeymoon, in
Europe! Think of going to Europe as a married woman! Mark, I wish you
could see my ring; it is a beauty, but don't tell Mother I was silly
enough to write about it!"

Margaret delightedly selected a little collection of things for
Julie's trousseau. A pair of silk stockings, a scarf she never had
worn, a lace petticoat, pink silk for a waist. Mrs. Carr-Boldt, coming
in in the midst of these preparations, insisted upon adding so many
other things, from trunks and closets, that Margaret was speechless
with delight. Scarves, cobwebby silks in uncut lengths, embroidered
lingerie still in the tissue paper of Paris shops, parasols, gloves,
and lengths of lace,--she piled all of them into Margaret's arms.
Julie's trousseau was consequently quite the most beautiful Weston had
ever seen; and the little sister's cloudless joy made the fortnight
Margaret spent at home at the time of the wedding a very happy one. It
was a time of rush and flurry, laughter and tears, of roses, and girls
in white gowns. But some ten days before the wedding, Julie and
Margaret happened to be alone for a peaceful hour over their sewing,
and fell to talking seriously.

"You see, our house will be small," said Julie; "but I don't care--we
don't intend to stay in Weston all our lives. Don't breathe this to
any one, Mark, but if Harry does as well as he's doing now for two
years, we'll rent the little house, and we're going to Baltimore
for a year for a special course. Then--you know he's devoted to
Dr. McKim, he always calls him 'the chief,'--then he thinks maybe