In other days Pork's pilferings would have been a serious matter,

probably calling for a whipping. In other days she would have been

forced at least to reprimand him severely. "Always remember,

dear," Ellen had said, "you are responsible for the moral as well

as the physical welfare of the darkies God has intrusted to your

care. You must realize that they are like children and must be

guarded from themselves like children, and you must always set them

a good example."

But now, Scarlett pushed that admonition into the back of her mind.

That she was encouraging theft, and perhaps theft from people worse

off than she, was no longer a matter for conscience. In fact the

morals of the affair weighed lightly upon her. Instead of

punishment or reproof, she only regretted he had been shot.

"You must be more careful, Pork. We don't want to lose you. What

would we do without you? You've been mighty good and faithful and

when we get some money again, I'm going to buy you a big gold watch

and engrave on it something out of the Bible. 'Well done, good and

faithful servant.'"

Pork beamed under the praise and gingerly rubbed his bandaged leg.

"Dat soun' mighty fine, Miss Scarlett. W'en you speckin' ter git

dat money?"

"I don't know, Pork, but I'm going to get it some time, somehow."

She bent on him an unseeing glance that was so passionately bitter

he stirred uneasily, "Some day, when this war is over, I'm going to

have lots of money, and when I do I'll never be hungry or cold

again. None of us will ever be hungry or cold. We'll all wear

fine clothes and have fried chicken every day and--"

Then she stopped. The strictest rule at Tara, one which she

herself had made and which she rigidly enforced, was that no one

should ever talk of the fine meals they had eaten in the past or

what they would eat now, if they had the opportunity.

Pork slipped from the room as she remained staring moodily into the

distance. In the old days, now dead and gone, life had been so

complex, so full of intricate and complicated problems. There had

been the problem of trying to win Ashley's love and trying to keep

a dozen other beaux dangling and unhappy. There had been small

breaches of conduct to be concealed from her elders, jealous girls

to be flouted or placated, styles of dresses and materials to be

chosen, different coiffures to be tried and, oh, so many, many

other matters to be decided! Now life was so amazingly simple.

Now all that mattered was food enough to keep off starvation,

clothing enough to prevent freezing and a roof overhead which did

not leak too much.

It was during these days that Scarlett dreamed and dreamed again

the nightmare which was to haunt her for years. It was always the

same dream, the details never varied, but the terror of it mounted

each time it came to her and the fear of experiencing it again

troubled even her waking hours. She remembered so well the

incidents of the day when she had first dreamed it.

Cold rain had fallen for days and the house was chill with drafts

and dampness. The logs in the fireplace were wet and smoky and

gave little heat. There had been nothing to eat except milk since

breakfast, for the yams were exhausted and Pork's snares and

fishlines had yielded nothing. One of the shoats would have to be

killed the next day if they were to eat at all. Strained and

hungry faces, black and white, were staring at her, mutely asking

her to provide food. She would have to risk losing the horse and

send Pork out to buy something. And to make matters worse, Wade

was ill with a sore throat and a raging fever and there was neither

doctor nor medicine for him.

Hungry, weary with watching her child, Scarlett left him to

Melanie's care for a while and lay down on her bed to nap. Her

feet icy, she twisted and turned, unable to sleep, weighed down

with fear and despair. Again and again, she thought: "What shall