"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.
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