"There are twelve missions now, with fifty-five stations, under the Board. Seven are in India, two in Asia, four in the Mediterranean, seven in the Sandwich Islands, twenty-seven among the southwestern Indians, four among the northeastern Indians, and four among the Indians of New York State. There are seventy-five missionaries, four physicians, four printers, eighteen teachers, twenty farmers and mechanics, and one hundred and thirty-one females, married and single, sent out from this country." "My! Isn’t that a lot!" commented Betty. Just below the report of the missionary meeting was a brief paragraph. She plunged into it without stopping to glance it over. "_Disappeared_. A female dressed in a white straw bonnet trimmed with white satin ribbon, a black silk gown, white crêpe shawl with flowered border, black silk stockings, and chocolate-colored parasol." "Oh!" cried Betty in dismay, and then went wildly on to the next column, not daring to look at her brother: "The Honorable William Wort has purchased a plantation in Florida, and is going to work it with hired hands. This will do more toward opening the eyes of the slaveholders than all the declamatory efforts of the free States since the adoption of the Constitution." "That is quoted from the _United States Gazette_, Charles, and the editor of this paper has a long, dry-looking comment on it. Do you want to hear it?" Betty looked uneasily at her brother, but his white face was turned toward the wall. "Here’s an article about Barnabas Bidwell, and something about General Prosper Wetmore. Doesn’t father know General Wetmore, Charles?" Betty felt she was not getting on well at all. "I believe he does," answered her brother patiently, and then the knocker sounded insistently through the house, and Charles came to an upright position in an instant. He seemed ever to be thus on the alert for something to happen. And this time something did happen. A negro boy stood at the door with a note scrawled on a leaf from a memorandum-book. He said he was to give it to Mr. Winthrop at once. As his father was out, Charles read it. Betty held the candle for him to see. It was badly written, with pale ink. Betty’s hand trembled and made the candle waver. She felt that something momentous was in the air. "Come to me at once. I’m desperately ill.—Harrington," read the note. It was like the writer to command and expect to be obeyed. Charles pressed the note into Betty’s hand, saying, "Give it to Father as soon as he comes, and don’t let Mother or Aunt Martha know." Then he seized his hat and sprang out into the night, urging his escort into a run, and demanding an explanation as he went. But the boy could tell little of what was the matter. He knew only that he had been sent in great haste, and that the gentleman was very sick.