Voice steady. To her surprise, words came out as coolly and

naturally as if there had never been a war and she could, by waving

her hand, call ten house servants to her.

"Pork, I'm starving. Is there anything to eat?"

"No'm. Dey tuck it all."

"But the garden?"

"Dey tuhned dey hawses loose in it."

"Even the sweet potato hills?"

Something almost like a pleased smile broke his thick lips.

"Miss Scarlett, Ah done fergit de yams. Ah specs dey's right dar.

Dem Yankee folks ain' never seed no yams an' dey thinks dey's jes'

roots an'--"

"The moon will be up soon. You go out and dig us some and roast

them. There's no corn meal? No dried peas? No chickens?"

"No'm. No'm. Whut chickens dey din' eat right hyah dey cah'ied

off 'cross dey saddles."

They-- They-- They-- Was there no end to what 'They" had done?

Was it not enough to burn and kill? Must they also leave women and

children and helpless negroes to starve in a country which they had

desolated?

"Miss Scarlett, Ah got some apples Mammy buhied unner de house. We

been eatin' on dem today."

"Bring them before you dig the potatoes. And, Pork--I--I feel so

faint. Is there any wine in the cellar, even blackberry?"

"Oh, Miss Scarlett, de cellar wuz de fust place dey went."

A swimming nausea compounded of hunger, sleeplessness, exhaustion

and stunning blows came on suddenly and she gripped the carved

roses under her hand.

"No wine," she said dully, remembering the endless rows of bottles

In the cellar. A memory stirred.

"Pork, what of the corn whisky Pa buried in the oak barrel under

the scuppernong arbor?"

Another ghost of a smile lit the black face, a smile of pleasure

and respect.

"Miss Scarlett, you sho is de beatenes' chile! Ah done plum fergit

dat bah'l. But, Miss Scarlett, dat whisky ain' no good. Ain' been

dar but 'bout a year an' whisky ain' no good fer ladies nohow."

How stupid negroes were! They never thought of anything unless

they were told. And the Yankees wanted to free them.

"It'll be good enough for this lady and for Pa. Hurry, Pork, and

dig it up and bring us two glasses and some mint and sugar and I'll

mix a julep."

"Miss Scarlett, you knows dey ain' been no sugar at Tara fer de

longes'. An' dey hawses done et up all de mint an' dey done broke

all de glasses."

If he says "They" once more, I'll scream. I can't help it, she

thought, and then, aloud: "Well, hurry and get the whisky,

quickly. We'll take it neat." And, as he turned: "Wait, Pork.

There's so many things to do that I can't seem to think. . . . Oh,

yes. I brought home a horse and a cow and the cow needs milking,

badly, and unharness the horse and water him. Go tell Mammy to

look after the cow. Tell her she's got to fix the cow up somehow.

Miss Melanie's baby will die if he doesn't get something to eat

and--"

"Miss Melly ain'--kain--?" Pork paused delicately.

"Miss Melanie has no milk." Dear God, but Mother would faint at

that!

"Well, Miss Scarlett, mah Dilcey ten' ter Miss Melly's chile. Mah

Dilcey got a new chile herseff an' she got mo'n nuff fer both."

"You've got a new baby, Pork?"

Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies? But no,

God didn't make them. Stupid people made them.

"Yas'm, big fat black boy. He--"

"Go tell Dilcey to leave the girls. I'll look after them. Tell

her to nurse Miss Melanie's baby and do what she can for Miss

Melanie. Tell Mammy to look after the cow and put that poor horse