She
wished she could ask one of them to tell her the way home. Then she
noticed a tall figure in uniform coming up the wharf.
"It's Captain Carleton!" she exclaimed joyfully, quite forgetting for
the moment her torn dress and scratched hands as she ran toward him.
"Why! Is it Sylvia Fulton?" exclaimed the surprised Captain, looking
down at the untidy little figure. "Why, what has happened?"
"Oh, dear," sobbed Sylvia, "I guess I'm lost."
"Well, well! It's lucky you came down to this wharf. Come on board the
schooner, and we'll see to these little hands first thing," and the
good-natured Captain rested a kindly hand on the little girl's shoulder
and walked down the wharf. Sylvia heard the men talking of the
Charleston Arsenal, and of the boxes of arms which were to be taken on
the schooner to Fort Sumter.
The Captain bathed the little hurt hands and flushed face, talking
pleasantly to the little girl about the schooner, and asking her if she
did not think it a much finer craft than her father's small boat; so in
a little while she was comforted and quite at home.
"Now, sit here by the cabin window, and I will come back and take you
home as soon as I settle this trouble about my supplies," and the
Captain hurried back to the wharf.
Sylvia sat quite still and looked out of the round port-hole. She felt
very tired, and leaned her head against the cushioned wall. She could
hear the monotonous chant of the negroes, and feel the swaying motion of
the vessel, and soon was fast asleep.
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