In her exhaustion she hated Melanie, hated the tiny mewing voice of

her child which, fainter and fainter, pierced the stillness. But

she had promised and now they belonged to her, even as Wade and

Prissy belonged to her, and she must struggle and fight for them as

long as she had strength or breath. She could have left them in

Atlanta, dumped Melanie into the hospital and deserted her. But

had she done that, she could never face Ashley, either on this

earth or in the hereafter and tell him she had left his wife and

child to die among strangers.

Oh, Ashley! Where was he tonight while she toiled down this

haunted road with his wife and baby? Was he alive and did he think

of her as he lay behind the bars at Rock Island? Or was he dead of

smallpox months ago, rotting in some long ditch with hundreds of

other Confederates?

Scarlett's taut nerves almost cracked as a sudden noise sounded in

the underbrush near them. Prissy screamed loudly, throwing herself

to the floor of the wagon, the baby beneath her. Melanie stirred

feebly, her hands seeking the baby, and Wade covered his eyes and

cowered, too frightened to cry. Then the bushes beside them

crashed apart under heavy hooves and a low moaning bawl assaulted

their ears.

"It's only a cow," said Scarlett, her voice rough with fright.

"Don't be a fool, Prissy. You've mashed the baby and frightened

Miss Melly and Wade."

"It's a ghos'," moaned Prissy, writhing face down on the wagon

boards.

Turning deliberately, Scarlett raised the tree limb she had been

using as a whip and brought it down across Prissy's back. She was

too exhausted and weak from fright to tolerate weakness in anyone

else.

"Sit up, you fool," she said, "before I wear this out on you."

Yelping, Prissy raised her head and peering over the side of the

wagon saw it was, indeed, a cow, a red and white animal which stood

looking at them appealingly with large frightened eyes. Opening

Its mouth, it lowed again as if in pain.

"Is it hurt? That doesn't sound like an ordinary moo."

"Soun' ter me lak her bag full an' she need milkin' bad," said

Prissy, regaining some measure of control. "Spec it one of Mist'

MacIntosh's dat de niggers driv in de woods an' de Yankees din'

git."

"We'll take it with us," Scarlett decided swiftly. "Then we can

have some milk for the baby."

"How all we gwine tek a cow wid us, Miss Scarlett? We kain tek no

cow wid us. Cow ain' no good nohow effen she ain' been milked

lately. Dey bags swells up and busts. Dat's why she hollerin'."

"Since you know so much about it, take off your petticoat and tear

It up and tie her to the back of the wagon."

"Miss Scarlett, you knows Ah ain' had no petticoat fer a month an'

did Ah have one, Ah wouldn' put it on her fer nuthin'. Ah nebber

had no truck wid cows. Ah's sceered of cows."

Scarlett laid down the reins and pulled up her skirt. The lace-

trimmed petticoat beneath was the last garment she possessed that

was pretty--and whole. She untied the waist tape and slipped it

down over her feet, crushing the soft linen folds between her

hands. Rhett had brought her that linen and lace from Nassau on

the last boat he slipped through the blockade and she had worked a

week to make the garment. Resolutely she took it by the hem and

jerked, put it in her mouth and gnawed, until finally the material

gave with a rip and tore the length. She gnawed furiously, tore

with both hands and the petticoat lay in strips in her hands. She

knotted the ends with fingers that bled from blisters and shook

from fatigue.

"Slip this over her horns," she directed. But Prissy balked.

"Ah's sceered of cows, Miss Scarlett. Ah ain' nebber had nuthin'

ter do wid cows. Ah ain' no yard nigger. Ah's a house nigger."

"You're a fool nigger, and the worst day's work Pa ever did was to

buy you," said Scarlett slowly, too tired for anger. "And if I

ever get the use of my arm again, I'll wear this whip out on you."

There, she thought, I've said "nigger" and Mother wouldn't like

that at all.

Prissy rolled her eyes wildly, peeping first at the set face of her

mistress and then at the cow which bawled plaintively. Scarlett

seemed the less dangerous of the two, so Prissy clutched at the

sides of the wagon and remained where she was.

Stiffly, Scarlett climbed down from the seat, each movement of

agony of aching muscles. Prissy was not the only one who was

"sceered" of cows. Scarlett had always feared them, even the

mildest cow seemed sinister to her, but this was no time to truckle

to small fears when great ones crowded so thick upon her.

Fortunately the cow was gentle. In its pain it had sought human

companionship and help and it made no threatening gesture as she

looped one end of the torn petticoat about its horns. She tied the

other end to the back of the wagon, as securely as her awkward

fingers would permit. Then, as she started back toward the

driver's seat, a vast weariness assailed her and she swayed

dizzily. She clutched the side of the wagon to keep from falling.

Melanie opened her eyes and, seeing Scarlett standing beside her,

whispered: "Dear--are we home?"

Home! Hot tears came to Scarlett's eyes at the word. Home.

Melanie did not know there was no home and that they were alone in

a mad and desolate world.

"Not yet," she said, as gently as the constriction of her throat

would permit, "but we will be, soon. I've just found a cow and

soon we'll have some milk for you and the baby."

"Poor baby," whispered Melanie, her hand creeping feebly toward the

child and falling short.

Climbing back into the wagon required all the strength Scarlett

could muster, but at last it was done and she picked up the lines.

The horse stood with head drooping dejectedly and refused to start.

Scarlett laid on the whip mercilessly. She hoped God would forgive

her for hurting a tired animal. If He didn't she was sorry. After

all, Tara lay just ahead, and after the next quarter of a mile, the

horse could drop in the shafts if he liked.

Finally he started slowly, the wagon creaking and the cow lowing

mournfully at every step. The pained animal's voice rasped on

Scarlett's nerves until she was tempted to stop and untie the

beast. What good would the cow do them anyway if there should be

no one at Tara? She couldn't milk her and, even if she could, the

animal would probably kick anyone who touched her sore udder. But

she had the cow and she might as well keep her. There was little

else she had in this world now.

Scarlett's eyes grew misty when, at last, they reached the bottom

of a gentle incline, for just over the rise lay Tara! Then her

heart sank. The decrepit animal would never pull the hill. The

slope had always seemed so slight, so gradual, in days when she

galloped up it on her fleet-footed mare. It did not seem possible