white stockings were grimy. Beside these misfortunes her hands were
bleeding. Never in all her life had Sylvia been so wretched. She sat
quite still in the warm sand, and wondered what she could do. If she
went home her mother would insist upon an explanation of her untidy
condition. Beside that Sylvia was not sure if she could find her way
home unless she climbed back into the garden. She looked along the shore
at the landing-place not far distant where several boats were bobbing up
and down in the wash of the incoming tide. She could see boats coming
and going between the forts and the city. She could see grim Fort
Sumter, with its guns that seemed to look straight at her. She watched a
schooner coming across the bay, and realized that it was coming to that
very wharf. A number of men landed, and several carts came down and
boxes were unloaded, and negroes carried them to the schooner.

Sylvia got up and walked along the shore until she was near the wharf,
and stood watching the negroes as they lifted the heavy boxes. 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