“Did Miss Sylvia say anything to any of you young ladies about leaving the grounds?” she questioned the pupils.  But they all declared that they knew nothing of her whereabouts.

“She was on the path behind us when the bell rang,” volunteered May Bailey.

Elinor’s face was unusually flushed, and she kept her eyes on her book.  Probably the “little Yankee,” as she called Sylvia even in her thoughts, had run home to tell her mother of the trouble.

By the time Miss Patten’s messenger had reached the Fulton house Sylvia was in the cabin of the little schooner.  The girl gave her message to Mrs. Fulton in so indefinite a manner that at first Sylvia’s mother hardly understood whether Sylvia was in the garden of the school, or had started for home.  Estralla was standing near the steps and began whimpering:  “Oh, Missy Sylvia los’!  That w’at she say.  She lost!”

“Nonsense, Estralla!  Sylvia could not be lost in Miss Patten’s garden,” said Mrs. Fulton; but she decided to return to the school with the maid.

As they went down the street Estralla followed close behind.  Her bare feet made no noise, but now and then she choked back a despairing little wail.  For the little colored girl was sure that some harm had befallen her new friend.

When Mrs. Fulton appeared at the school-room door Miss Patten was greatly alarmed.  Elinor Mayhew and May Bailey exchanged a look of surprised apprehension.  They felt sure that Sylvia had hurried home and told her mother just what had happened.  If she had, and Mrs. Fulton had come to inform Miss Patten, they knew there would be unpleasant things in store for them.

In a short time a thorough search for the lost girl was in progress.  Servants were sent along the streets, and Mrs. Fulton hastened home thinking it possible that Sylvia might be in her own room.

No one paid any attention to the little colored girl in the faded blue cotton gown who wandered about the paths and around the summer-house.  Estralla noticed two of the older girls talking together, and heard the taller one say:  “Well, wherever she is, she needn’t think we will ever take back one word.  She is a Yankee!”

“They’se done somethin’ to my missy,” decided Estralla.  “They’se scairt her.”  She ran down the path toward the wall at the end of the garden, and stopped suddenly; for right in front of her, caught on the jessamine vine which grew over the wall, she saw a fluttering blue ribbon.  “Dat’s off’n Missy Sylvia’s hair, dat ribbon is,” she whispered, reaching up for it.  Holding it fast in her hands she looked closely at the mass of heavy vines, and nodded her little woolly head.  “Dat’s w’at she done.  She dumb right up here, to git away frum those imps o’ Satan w’at was a plaguein’ her,” decided Estralla, and in an instant she was going up the wall in a much easier manner than had been possible for Sylvia.  She dropped on the further side, just as Sylvia had done, and traced Sylvia’s steps to near the landing-place.  Then she stopped short.  Men were loading boxes on a schooner at the end of the pier, and she could see a tall officer in uniform standing on the deck of the vessel.