“Oh, clear!  It isn’t anything at all except letters,” exclaimed Sylvia, nearly ready to cry with disappointment.  And, suddenly, she did cry—­a cry so like Estralla’s wail that the little darky just entering the room stopped short, and nearly dropped the pitcher of hot water.

“Wat’s de matter, Missy?  Wat is de matter?” Estralla demanded.

Tears were in Sylvia’s eyes as she turned toward the little darky.  They were not tears for her own disappointment at not finding the expected picture, but they were tears for what Sylvia believed to be the most bitter misfortune that could befall Estralla and Aunt Connie.  For she was sure that the papers in that envelope were to tell her that Aunt Connie and Estralla had both been sold.  But she resolved quickly that Estralla should not know of this until she had told her mother.

“Nothing I can tell you now, Estralla,” she said, wiping away her tears.

Estralla looked quite ready to weep with her young mistress, but she lit the fire, and crept silently out of the room.

Sylvia dressed as quickly as possible, picked up the papers and ran to her mother’s room.

“Look, Mother!  It’s dreadful.  It wasn’t a picture of Mr. Robert Waite at all.  It’s just a lot of papers about Estralla and Aunt Connie being sold,” and Sylvia began to cry bitterly.

Mr. Fulton took the papers and looked them over, while Sylvia with her mother’s arm about her sobbed out her disappointment.

“Sold!  Estralla!  Why, my dear Sylvia, these papers give Aunt Connie and Estralla their freedom, from yesterday.  And these,” and Mr. Fulton held up the smaller documents, “give them permission to leave Charleston for the north at any time within six months.”

For a moment neither Sylvia nor her mother made any response to this wonderful statement.

“Truly, Father?  Truly?” exclaimed Sylvia with shining eyes.

“Yes.  These papers have been recorded.  Estralla and her mother are no longer slaves.  They are free,” said Mr. Fulton, as he folded the papers.  “Mr. Waite has made you the finest gift in the world, little daughter,” he added seriously.

“And Estralla and Aunt Connie may go to Boston with us?” pleaded Sylvia, quite sure that her father and mother would agree.  “Won’t Grandma be surprised to see them?”

Mrs. Carleton was as pleased and surprised as Sylvia herself over Mr. Waite’s gift, and it was decided that directly after breakfast Sylvia should tell Aunt Connie and Estralla the wonderful news.  It was too great to be kept a secret even until Christmas Day.

“Dar, Mammy!  Wat I tells yo’?  I tells yo’ Missy Sylvia gwine to look out fer us,” Estralla declared triumphantly, evidently not at all surprised.

“But it is Mr. Robert Waite who has given you your freedom,” Sylvia reminded them, “and my father says that you must both go with me and thank him.”

“Yas, Missy,” responded Aunt Connie, “but I reckons we wouldn’t be thankin’ him if ‘twan’t fer yo’.  Massa Robert he knows dat all his niggers gwine to be free jes’ as soon as de Yankees come.  Yas, indeedy, he knows.  But we shuahly go long wid yo’, Missy, an’ thanks him.  We knows our manners.”