“Get down on your knees,” commanded Elinor, trying to push the little girl.

“There’s the bell,” and they all turned and scampered back to the house, leaving Sylvia on the path; for Elinor had let go of her so suddenly that she had fallen forward.

Her knees were hurt, and one of her hands was bruised by the fall.  For a moment she lay sobbing quietly.  She was angry and miserable.  She had been brave enough when the girls had seemed to threaten her, but now her courage was gone.  She could not go back to the schoolroom and face all those enemies.  If Miss Rosalie came in search of her she might not be able to resist telling her what had happened; and, miserable and unhappy as she was, Sylvia resolved that she would never tell.

“But Elinor Mayhew and all the rest of them shall be sorry for this.  Yes, they shall,” she sobbed as she got to her feet and turned toward the shore.  She knew she must either go straight back to the schoolroom or else find a hiding-place until they had ceased to search for her.  There was a wall at the foot of the garden, covered with fragrant jessamine and myrtle.  If she could only get over that wall, thought Sylvia, she would be safe.  She ran swiftly forward and began to scramble up, grasping the sturdy vines, and finding a foothold on some bit of rough brick.  She reached the top just as she heard Miss Rosalie’s servant calling her name.

Sylvia looked down to the further side.  The vines drooped over and below the wall a high bank of sand sloped to the shore.  Holding tight to the vines she slid down, hitting her bruised knees against the rough surface.  The vines cut her hands, and when she tumbled into the sand her dress was torn and soiled, her pretty hair-ribbon was gone, and her once white stockings were grimy.  Beside these misfortunes her hands were bleeding.  Never in all her life had Sylvia been so wretched.  She sat quite still in the warm sand, and wondered what she could do.  If she went home her mother would insist upon an explanation of her untidy condition.  Beside that Sylvia was not sure if she could find her way home unless she climbed back into the garden.  She looked along the shore at the landing-place not far distant where several boats were bobbing up and down in the wash of the incoming tide.  She could see boats coming and going between the forts and the city.  She could see grim Fort Sumter, with its guns that seemed to look straight at her.  She watched a schooner coming across the bay, and realized that it was coming to that very wharf.  A number of men landed, and several carts came down and boxes were unloaded, and negroes carried them to the schooner.

Sylvia got up and walked along the shore until she was near the wharf, and stood watching the negroes as they lifted the heavy boxes.  She wished she could ask one of them to tell her the way home.  Then she noticed a tall figure in uniform coming up the wharf.

“It’s Captain Carleton!” she exclaimed joyfully, quite forgetting for the moment her torn dress and scratched hands as she ran toward him.