"I'll have to run, or I'll be late for school," declared Grace. "I'll be
all ready when you call," and with a gay good-bye she was off down the
street, leaving Sylvia and Estralla standing alone near the high wall
which enclosed the garden of the Hayes house.
"Massa Robert Waite, he live right 'roun' de corner," said Estralla, and
the two girls turned down the street leading to the house of Estralla's
master.
Sylvia went up the flight of stone steps which led to Mr. Waite's door a
little fearfully. A tall, good-natured colored man opened the door and
asked her errand, and then led the way across the wide hall and rapped
at a door.
"A little white missy to see you, Massa Robert," he said, and in a
moment Sylvia found herself standing before a smiling gentleman, whose
red face and white whiskers made her think of the pictures of Santa
Claus.
"Won't you be seated, young lady?" he said, very politely, waving his
hand toward a low cushioned chair, and bowing "as if I were really grown
up," thought Sylvia.
"I am Sylvia Fulton," she said, wondering why her voice sounded so
faint.
"Perhaps you are the daughter of Mr. John Fulton, who does me the favor
of renting my house on the East Battery," responded Mr. Waite, with
another bow.
"Yes, sir," said Sylvia meekly, wondering whether she would ever dare
tell him her errand. There was a little silence, and then Mr. Waite took
a seat near his little visitor and said:
"Let me see; is not your name in a song? 'Then to Sylvia let us sing,'"
he hummed, beating time with his right hand.
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