After her father had left the house Sylvia and her mother went up to Mrs. Fulton’s pleasant sitting-room.

“We must begin to pack at once,” declared Sylvia’s mother, “and do not go outside the gate alone, Sylvia.  I wish we could leave Charleston immediately.”

“Won’t I see Mrs. Carleton again?” Sylvia asked anxiously.

“I do not know, dear child, but run away and give Estralla her lesson, as usual.  It will not be a very gay Christmas for any of us this year,” responded Mrs. Fulton, and Sylvia went slowly to her own room where Estralla was waiting for her.

The little colored girl had put the room in order; there was a bright fire in the grate, the morning sunshine filled the room, and Miss Molly and Polly, smiling as usual, were in the tiny chairs behind the little round table.

“Dar’s gwine to be war, Missy!” Estralla declared solemnly.  “Yas’m.  Dar’s soldiers comin’ in from ebery place.  Won’t de Yankees come and set us free, Missy?”

Sylvia shook her head.  “I don’t know, Estralla!  Let’s not talk about it,” she replied.

“Wal, Missy, lots of darkies are runnin’ off!  My mammy say we’ll stay right here ’til Massa Fulton goes, an’ den”—­Estralla stopped, leaned a little nearer to Sylvia and whispered, “an’ den my mammy an’ I we’se gwine to go with Massa Fulton.”

Mrs. Fulton was not in her room, so Sylvia went down the stairs to look for her.  She heard voices in the sitting-room, and turned in that direction.

“Oh!” she whispered, as she stood in the open door.  For her mother was sitting on the big sofa near the open fire, and beside her sat Mr. Robert Waite, while her father was standing in front of them.  They were all talking so earnestly that they did not notice the surprised little girl standing in the doorway, and Sylvia heard Mr. Waite say: 

“I shall be glad to protect your interests here, Mr. Fulton, as far as it is possible to do so.  And you had better leave Charleston immediately.  The city is no longer a safe place for northern people.  The conflict may begin at any moment.”

“‘Conflict,’” Sylvia repeated the word to herself.  Probably it meant something dreadful, she thought, recalling the “question period” at Miss Rosalie’s school.

Just then Mr. Waite glanced toward the door and saw Sylvia.  In a second he was on his feet, bowing as politely as on their last meeting.

“Miss Sylvia, I am glad to see you again,” and he stepped forward to meet her.

Sylvia, feeling quite grown-up, made her pretty curtsey, and smiled with delight at Mr. Waite’s greeting, as he led her toward her mother and, with another polite bow, gave her the seat on the sofa.

“I was hoping to see Miss Sylvia,” he said.  “I had meant to make her a little Christmas gift, with your permission,” and he bowed again to Mrs. Fulton.  “She was kind enough to interest herself in behalf of one of my people, the little darky, Estralla.  And so I thought this would please you,” and he smiled at Sylvia, who began to be sure that Mr. Waite and Santa Claus must be exactly alike.  As he spoke he handed Sylvia a long envelope.