“It’s because she’s a slave,” Sylvia whispered to herself.  “I hate slavery.  My father said Yankees always fought for what was right.  Why don’t they fight against slavery?” She quite forgot that Flora and Grace would wonder where she had gone, and be alarmed at her absence.

“I do wish I could see Dinkie,” she thought.  “I wish I could do something to help set every slave free.”  Then she remembered that Philip had declared that Dinkie should neither be sold nor whipped.

“I like Philip,” she declared aloud, and was surprised to hear a little chuckling laugh from somewhere behind her, and turned quickly to find a smiling negro woman close behind her.

“I likes Massa Philip myse’f,” declared the woman, “an’ I wishes I could see him jus’ a minute,” and her smile disappeared.  “I’se shuah Massa Philip won’ let ’em sell Dinkie, or lash her either,” and putting her apron over her face the woman began to cry.

“He won’t!  I heard him say he wouldn’t have it,” Sylvia assured her eagerly.  “Don’t cry, Dinkie,” and she patted the woman’s arm.

Dinkie let her apron fall and looked eagerly at Sylvia.

“You’se the little Yankee missy, ain’t you?” she questioned.  “I hear say that Yankees don’t believe in selling black folks.”

“They don’t; I’m sure they don’t.  I’ll run right back and tell Philip you want to see him,” replied Sylvia.  “You stay right here by this tree,” she added, pointing to a big live-oak.

“Yas, Missy, I thanks you,” replied the woman.

Sylvia ran back toward the house as fast as she could go.  She could see the ponies standing before the house, a small negro boy holding their bridle-reins.  The girls were on the steps waiting for her.

“I mustn’t let them know that Dinkie wants to see Philip,” she thought, as the girls called out that they had been looking everywhere for her.  At that moment the two boys came along the piazza.

“Philip is going to teach you how to mount, and how to hold your reins, Sylvia,” said Flora.

Grace and Sylvia were to ride the white ponies, and Flora was to ride a small brown horse which her mother usually rode.

Philip came slowly down the steps.  He looked very sober, and Sylvia was sure that he was thinking about Dinkie.  “I don’t believe he thinks slavery is right,” she thought, as Philip raised his cap, and asked if she was ready to mount “Snap,” the pony which she was to ride.

Flora and Grace were already mounted, and trotted slowly off.  Sylvia and Philip were alone on the driveway.

“Dinkie wants to see you.  She’s waiting down by the oak, beyond the lake,” said Sylvia.  “And don’t let her be whipped,” she added.

The boy looked up at her quickly.

“Don’t tell the girls that she sent for me,” he replied.  “Dinkie shan’t be whipped, or sold either.”  He did not thank Sylvia for her message, and she was glad that he did not.  With a brief word of direction as to the proper manner of holding the reins, he turned toward the lake, and Sylvia’s pony trotted slowly down the drive to where Flora and Grace were waiting.