"If you please, Mrs. Paxton, your little girl isn't over to the Merlington, and hasn't been there, and a lady that was with the party that came home from the mountain trip, says the child wasn't in their barge at all. I asked her if she was sure, and she said, she couldn't help being sure, because there wasn't any child in their barge."
Of course excitement reigned supreme. Mrs. Paxton seemed half wild, and every one shared her anxiety.
The fact that Floretta was not a favorite made no difference. No one liked to think of a little girl out there alone on the mountain path, or in the woods, especially as it was already late afternoon.
"What a dreadful thing!" cried Mrs. Paxton, wringing her hands, and walking up and down the piazza.
"Who will go with me? I cannot go alone, and where, where shall we look first? Who saw her last?"
At this moment a man-servant came out from the hall with a tray of letters that he began to distribute.
"One for you, Mrs. Paxton," said the man, as he touched her arm gently.
"Oh, I can't think of letters now," she said, but something about the note seemed so unusual that she looked at it.
She drew off the string that had been loosely tied, and read the hastily scrawled lines.
She screamed, and Aunt Charlotte, who was standing near her, put her arm around her and supported her, or she would have fallen.