All Sylvia thought of was to have Estralla protected, and she was quite sure that a United States fort could protect one little negro girl.  Nevertheless she was troubled and worried as to how she could carry out her plan; but she resolved not to tell Grace.

As usual Flora was waiting at Miss Patten’s gate for her friends.  She was wearing a pretty turban hat, and pinned in front was a fine blue cockade, to which Flora pointed and said:  “Look, girls.  This is the Secession Cockade.  Ralph gave it to me,” she explained; “all loyal Carolinians ought to wear it, Ralph says.”

“What does it mean to wear one?” asked Sylvia.

“Oh, it means that you believe South Carolina has a right to keep its slaves, and sell them, of course; and if the United States interferes, why, Carolinians will teach them a lesson,” Flora explained grandly, repeating the explanation her father had given her that very morning.

Many of the other girls wore blue cockades, and a palmetto flag was hung behind Miss Rosalie’s desk.

“Young ladies,” said Miss Rosalie, “I have hung South Carolina’s flag where you can all see it.  You all know that a flag is an emblem.  Our flag means the glory of our past and the hope of the future.  I will ask you all to rise and salute this flag!”

The little girls all stood, and each raised her right hand.  All but Sylvia.  Flushed and unhappy, with downcast eyes, she kept her seat.  This was not the “Stars and Stripes,” the flag she had been taught to love and honor.  She knew that the palmetto flag stood for slavery.

Sylvia did not know what Miss Rosalie would say to her, and, even worse than her teacher’s disapproval, she was sure that her schoolmates, perhaps even Grace and Flora, would dislike and blame her for not saluting their flag.

But she was soon to realize just how serious was her failure to salute the palmetto flag.  Miss Rosalie came down the aisle and laid a note on Sylvia’s desk.

It was very brief:  “You may go home at recess.  Take your books and go quietly without a word to any of the other pupils.  You may tell your parents that I do not care to have you as a pupil for another day.”

As Sylvia read these words the tears sprang to her eyes.  It was all she could do not to sob aloud.  She dared not look at the other girls.  She held a book before her face, and only hoped that she could keep back the tears until recess-time.

But not for a moment did Sylvia wish that she had saluted a flag which stood for the protection of slavery.  Miss Rosalie had said that a flag was an “emblem,” and even in her unhappiness Sylvia knew that the emblem of the United States stood for justice and liberty.

When the hour of recess came Sylvia had her books neatly strapped, and, as Miss Rosalie had directed, she left the room quietly without one word to any of the other girls.  She had nearly reached the gate when she heard steps close behind her and Grace’s voice calling:  “Sylvia, Sylvia, dear,” and Grace’s arm was about her.  “It’s a mean shame,” declared the warm-hearted little southern girl, “and flag or no flag, I’m your true friend.”