A Yankee Girl at Fort Sumter Part 10

"Don't, Grace!" Sylvia exclaimed. "We don't get whipped every time we make a mistake. And Estralla hasn't anything of her own. Just think, your Uncle Robert can sell her away from her own mother. You said yourself that you didn't think that was fair."

Estralla had scrambled to her feet and now stood looking at the little white girls with a half-frightened look in her big eyes.

"Oh, Missy! I ain't gwine to be sold, be I?" she whispered.

Sylvia put her arm around Estralla's shoulders. "No!" she said, "you shall not be sold. Now, don't look so frightened. We will have a tea-party for Molly and Polly, and you shall wait on them. Run down and ask your mother to give us some little cakes."

Estralla was off in an instant, and while she was away Sylvia and Grace spread the little table, brought cus.h.i.+ons from the window-seats and advised Molly and Polly to forgive the disturbance.

When Mrs. Fulton came up-stairs a little later to tell Grace that her black Mammy had come to take her home she found three very happy little girls. Sylvia and Grace were being entertained at tea by Misses Molly and Polly, while Estralla with s.h.i.+ning eyes and a wide smile carried tiny cups and little cakes to the guests, and chuckled delightedly over the clever things which Sylvia and Grace declared Molly and Polly had said.

"A candle-light tea-party," exclaimed Mrs. Fulton, as she came into the room and smiled down on the happy group.

"Perhaps Flora will own up," Grace said, as the two girls followed Mrs.

Fulton down the stairs. "Anyway, you are mighty fair about it, and you're good to that stupid little darky."

"Oh, Estralla isn't stupid. Not a bit," replied Sylvia laughingly.

Estralla, who was carefully putting the little table in order, heard Sylvia's defense of her, and for a moment she stood very straight, holding one of the tiny cups in each hand.

"I jes' loves Missy Sylvia, I do, I jes' wish ez how I could do somethin' so she'd know how I loves her," and two big tears rolled down the black cheeks of the little slave girl who had known so little of kindness or of joy.

CHAPTER IX

TROUBLESOME WORDS

It was a week after Sylvia's visit to the Hayes plantation before Flora returned to school. A heavy rain had made the roads nearly impa.s.sable, and a little scar on Flora's forehead reminded Sylvia and Grace of her unlucky tumble. On Flora's first appearance at school Sylvia was confident that she would at once confess her part in "Lady Caroline's"

appearance, and at recess she and Grace were eager to walk with Flora.

It was now the first of November, but the air was warm and the garden had many blossoming plants and shrubs.

Flora said that she was glad to be back at school. She told the girls that her father had returned from a northern trip and that he had given d.i.n.kie and her children to Philip.

"Phil teased him so that Father was tired of hearing him. He said Phil was a regular abolitionist," Flora explained with her pretty smile.

"What's an abbylitionzist?" asked Grace.

"Ask Sylvia. I heard my father say that Sylvia's father was one,"

answered Flora.

"I don't know. But my father is a Congregationalist," replied Sylvia.

"Perhaps that's what your father meant."

"No, it's something about not believing in having slaves, I know that much," said Flora.

"Who would do our work then?" questioned Grace.

Flora could not answer this question. Sylvia resolved to ask Miss Rosalie at question time the meaning of this new word. If her father and Philip Hayes were "abolitionists," she was quite sure the word meant something very brave and fine.

"What about Miss Flora and her ghost now?" Grace found a chance to whisper, as they entered the schoolroom. "She doesn't mean to own up."

"Wait, she will," was Sylvia's response as she took her seat.

When question time came Sylvia was ready. She stood up smiling and eager, and Miss Rosalie smiled back. She had grown fond of her little pupil from Boston, and thought to herself that Sylvia was really becoming almost like a little southern girl in her graceful ways and pleasant smile.

"What is your question, Sylvia?" she asked.

"If you please, Miss Rosalie, what does 'abolitionist' mean?"

Some of the older girls exchanged startled looks, and May Bailey barely restrained a laugh. Probably Grace and Sylvia were the only girls in school who had not heard the word used as a term of reproach against the people of the northern states who wished to do away with slavery.

Miss Rosalie's smile faded, but she responded without a moment's hesitation:

"Why, an 'abolitionist' is a person who wishes to destroy some law or custom."

There was a little murmur among the other pupils, but Grace and Sylvia looked at each other with puzzled eyes. Philip did not wish to "destroy" anything, thought Sylvia; he only wanted to protect d.i.n.kie.

And she was sure that her father would not destroy anything, unless it was something which would harm people. So it was a puzzled Sylvia who came home from school that day. She decided that her father could answer a question much better than Miss Rosalie, and resolved to ask him the meaning of the word.

"Come up-stairs, Estralla," she said, finding the little negro girl at the gate as usual waiting for her. "I have some things my mother said I could give you."

Estralla followed happily. She didn't care very much what it might be that Missy Sylvia would give her, it was delight enough for Estralla to follow after her. But when the little girl saw the things spread out on Sylvia's bed she exclaimed aloud:

"Does you mean, Missy, dat I'se to pick out somethin'? Well, then I chooses the shoes. I never had no shoes."

"They are all for you," said Sylvia, lifting up a pretty blue cape and holding it toward Estralla.

"My lan'!" whispered Estralla.

There was a dress of blue delaine with tiny white dots, two pretty white ap.r.o.ns, the blue cape, and shoes and stockings, beside some of Sylvia's part-worn underwear. She had begged her mother to let her give the little darky these things, and Mrs. Fulton had been glad that her little daughter wished to do so.

"Estralla has never had ANYTHING," Sylvia had urged, "and she is always afraid of something. Of being whipped or sold. And I would like to see her have clothes like other girls."

Estralla wanted to try on the shoes at once, and when she found that they fitted very comfortably, she chuckled and laughed with delight.

Neither of the girls heard a rap at the door, and both were surprised when Aunt Connie, who had opened the door and stood waiting, exclaimed:

"Fo' lan's sake! Wat you lettin' that darky dress up in you' clo'es fer, Missy Sylvia?"

"They are her own clothes now, Aunt Connie," Sylvia explained. "My mother said I might give them to her."

For a moment the negro woman stood silent. Then she put her hands up to her face and began to cry, very quietly. Estralla's laughter vanished.

She wondered if her mammy was going to tell her that she could not keep the things.

"'Scusie, Missy," muttered Aunt Connie; "you'se an angel to my po'

little gal. An' I'se 'bliged to you. But I'se feared the chile won't wear 'em long. Ma.s.sa Robert Waite's man sez he's gwine sell her off right soon."