Intolerably from burns. Smoke was still rolling from the quarters,

enveloping the cabins in thick clouds, and the smell of burning

cotton was strong. Scarlett saw wisps of smoke drifting from the

kitchen and she stirred frantically to rise.

But she was pushed back as Melanie's calm voice said: "Lie still,

dear. The fire's out."

She lay quiet for a moment, eyes closed, sighing with relief, and

heard the slobbery gurgle of the baby near by and the reassuring

sound of Wade's hiccoughing. So he wasn't dead, thank God! She

opened her eyes and looked up into Melanie's face. Her curls were

singed, her face black with smut but her eyes were sparkling with

excitement and she was smiling.

"You look like a nigger," murmured Scarlett, burrowing her head

wearily into its soft pillow.

"And you look like the end man in a minstrel show," replied Melanie

equably.

"Why did you have to hit me?"

"Because, my darling, your back was on fire. I didn't dream you'd

faint, though the Lord knows you've had enough today to kill

you. . . . I came back as soon as I got the stock safe in the

woods. I nearly died, thinking about you and the baby alone.

Did--the Yankees harm you?"

"If you mean did they rape me, no," said Scarlett, groaning as she

tried to sit up. Though Melanie's lap was soft, the porch on which

she was lying was far from comfortable. "But they've stolen

everything, everything. We've lost everything-- Well, what is

there to look so happy about?"

"We haven't lost each other and our babies are all right and we

have a roof over our heads," said Melanie and there was a lilt in

her voice. "And that's all anyone can hope for now. . . .

Goodness but Beau is wet! I suppose the Yankees even stole his

extra diapers. He-- Scarlett, what on earth is in his diaper?"

She thrust a suddenly frightened hand down the baby's back and

brought up the wallet. For a moment she looked at it as if she had

never seen it before and then she began to laugh, peal on peal of

mirth that had in it no hint of hysteria.

"Nobody but you would ever have thought of it," she cried and

flinging her arms around Scarlett's neck she kissed her. "You are

the beatenest sister I ever had!"

Scarlett permitted the embrace because she was too tired to

struggle, because the words of praise brought balm to her spirit

and because, in the dark smoke-filled kitchen, there had been born

a greater respect for her sister-in-law, a closer feeling of

comradeship.

"I'll say this for her," she thought grudgingly, "she's always

there when you need her."

CHAPTER XXVIII

Cold weather set in abruptly with a killing frost. Chilling winds

swept beneath the doorsills and rattled the loose windowpanes with

a monotonous tinkling sound. The last of the leaves fell from the

bare trees and only the pines stood clothed, black and cold against

pale skies. The rutted red roads were frozen to flintiness and

hunger rode the winds through Georgia.

Scarlett recalled bitterly her conversation with Grandma Fontaine.

On that afternoon two months ago, which now seemed years in the

past, she had told the old lady she had already known the worst

which could possibly happen to her, and she had spoken from the

bottom of her heart. Now that remark sounded like schoolgirl

hyperbole. Before Sherman's men came through Tara the second time,

she had her small riches of food and money, she had neighbors more

fortunate than she and she had the cotton which would tide her over

until spring. Now the cotton was gone, the food was gone, the

money was of no use to her, for there was no food to buy with it,

and the neighbors were in worse plight than she. At least, she had

the cow and the calf, a few shoats and the horse, and the neighbors

had nothing but the little they had been able to hide in the woods

and bury in the ground.

Fairhill, the Tarleton home, was burned to the foundations, and

Mrs. Tarleton and the four girls were existing in the overseer's

house. The Munroe house near Lovejoy was leveled too. The wooden

wing of Mimosa had burned and only the thick resistant stucco of

the main house and the frenzied work of the Fontaine women and

their slaves with wet blankets and quilts had saved it. The

Calverts' house had again been spared, due to the intercession of

Hilton, the Yankee overseer, but there was not a head of livestock,

not a fowl, not an ear of corn left on the place.

At Tara and throughout the County, the problem was food. Most of

the families had nothing at all but the remains of their yam crops

and their peanuts and such game as they could catch in the woods.

What they had, each shared with less fortunate friends, as they had

done in more prosperous days. But the time soon came when there

was nothing to share.

At Tara, they ate rabbit and possum and catfish, if Pork was lucky.

On other days a small amount of milk, hickory nuts, roasted acorns

and yams. They were always hungry. To Scarlett it seemed that at

every turn she met outstretched hands, pleading eyes. The sight of

them drove her almost to madness, for she was as hungry as they.

She ordered the calf killed, because he drank so much of the

precious milk, and that night everyone ate so much fresh veal all

of them were ill. She knew that she should kill one of the shoats

but she put it off from day to day, hoping to raise them to

maturity. They were so small. There would be so little of them to

eat if they were killed now and so much more if they could be saved

a little longer. Nightly she debated with Melanie the advisability

of sending Pork abroad on the horse with some greenbacks to try to

buy food. But the fear that the horse might be captured and the

money taken from Pork deterred them. They did not know where the

Yankees were. They might be a thousand miles away or only across

the river. Once, Scarlett, in desperation, started to ride out

herself to search for food, but the hysterical outbursts of the

whole family fearful of the Yankees made her abandon the plan.

Pork foraged far, at times not coming home all night, and Scarlett

did not ask him where he went. Sometimes he returned with game,

sometimes with a few ears of corn, a bag of dried peas. Once he

brought home a rooster which he said he found in the woods. The

family ate it with relish but a sense of guilt, knowing very well

Pork had stolen it, as he had stolen the peas and corn. One night

soon after this, he tapped on Scarlett's door long after the house

was asleep and sheepishly exhibited a leg peppered with small shot.

As she bandaged it for him, he explained awkwardly that when

attempting to get into a hen coop at Fayetteville, he had been

discovered. Scarlett did not ask whose hen coop but patted Pork's

shoulder gently, tears in her eyes. Negroes were provoking

sometimes and stupid and lazy, but there was loyalty in them that

money couldn't buy, a feeling of oneness with their white folks

which made them risk their lives to keep food on the table.