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"one of my son's interesting letters about the work they are doing in blackest Africa." The letter still crackled in her reticule, filling her with an immense pride, for' was not the career of Philip, and Philip himself, simply another evidence of her sterling character? If Essie hadn't been a slut she would have had two letters to read.

She drew her solid body up to the table and, clamping on her pince-nez (which for a moment exasperated her by becoming entangled in the white badge of her temperance) she tore open the battered letter and holding it at arm's length because of her far-sightedness, began to read.

At first glance she was disturbed by the brevity of it and by the fact that there was no enclosure from Naomi. Usually Philip wrote pages.

"Dear Ma:

"I write this in great haste to tell you that by the time this reaches you we will be on our way home.

"I don't know whether the news has reached you, but there has been an uprising among the tribes to the north of Megambo. They attacked the mission and we narrowly escaped with our lives. I was wounded, but not badly. Naome is all right. There was a strange Englishwoman who got caught with us. She wasn't a missionary but middle-aged and the sister of a British general. She was seeing the country and doing some shooting.

"We sail from Capetown in ten days and ought to be home in time for Christmas. I ought to tell you that I've made a mistake in my calling. I'm not going to be a missionary any longer. That's why I'm coming