School was dismissed with less ceremony than usual that morning, and the
little girls started off in groups, talking and questioning each other
about what Miss Rosalie had said.
Two or three ran after Grace and Sylvia to ask Grace what she meant by
her question.
"Of course we know that northern people want to take our slaves away
from us," declared Elinor Mayhew, the oldest girl in school, whose dark
eyes and curling hair were greatly admired by auburn-haired, blue-eyed
Sylvia, "but of course they can't do that. But how could they take our
forts?"
"I don't know," responded Grace. "That's why I asked Miss Rosalie. I
guess I'll have to ask my father."
"We'll all ask our fathers," said Elinor, "and to-morrow we will tell
each other what they say. I don't suppose YOUR father would care if the
forts were taken," and she turned suddenly toward Sylvia. "I suppose all
the Yankees would like to tell us what we ought to do."
Sylvia looked at her in surprise. The tall girl had never taken any
notice of the little Boston girl before, and Sylvia could not understand
why Elinor should look at her so scornfully or speak so unkindly. The
other girls had stopped talking, and now looked at Sylvia as if
wondering what she would say.
"I don't know what you mean," she answered bravely, "but I know one
thing: my father would want what was right."
"That's real Yankee talk," said Elinor. "They say slavery isn't right."
There was a little murmur of laughter among the other girls.
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