Grace nodded smilingly. She was a year older than Sylvia, nearly eleven
years old, and felt that it was quite proper that she should be able to
explain to Sylvia more about her name than Sylvia knew herself.

"It is something about 'spelling,'" she explained, and then sang, very
softly:

"'Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Sylvia is spelling.
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling.'

"I suppose it means she was the best speller," Grace said soberly.

"I think it is a lovely song," said Sylvia. "I'll tell my mother about
it. I am so glad you told me, Grace."

Sylvia Fulton was ten years old, and had lived in Charleston, South
Carolina, for the past year. Before that the Fultons had lived in
Boston. Grace Waite lived in the house next to the one which Mr. Fulton
had hired in the beautiful southern city, and the two little girls had
become fast friends. They both attended Miss Patten's school. Usually
Grace's black mammy, Esther, escorted them to and from Miss Patten's,
but on this morning in early October they were allowed to go by
themselves.

As they walked along they could look out across the blue harbor, and see
sailing vessels and rowboats coming and going. In the distance were the
three forts whose historic names were known to every child in