I've got on. You see, when I enlisted I sold most of my land and I

put all my money in Confederate bonds and you know what they're

worth now. Less than the paper they're printed on. And anyway, I

haven't got them now, because they burned up when the Yankees

burned my sister's house. I know I've got gall asking for Miss

Suellen now when I haven't a cent but--well, it's this way. I got

to thinking that we don't know how things are going to turn out

about this war. It sure looks like the end of the world for me.

There's nothing we can be sure of and--and I thought it would be a

heap of comfort to me and maybe to her if we were engaged. That

would be something sure. I wouldn't ask to marry her till I could

take care of her, Miss Scarlett, and I don't know when that will

be. But if true love carries any weight with you, you can be

certain Miss Suellen will be rich in that if nothing else."

He spoke the last words with a simple dignity that touched

Scarlett, even in her amusement. It was beyond her comprehension

that anyone could love Suellen. Her sister seemed to her a monster

of selfishness, of complaints and of what she could only describe

as pure cussedness.

"Why, Mr. Kennedy," she said kindly, "it's quite all right. I'm

sure I can speak for Pa. He always set a store by you and he

always expected Suellen to marry you."

"Did he now?" cried Frank, happiness in his face.

"Indeed yes," answered Scarlett, concealing a grin as she

remembered how frequently Gerald had rudely bellowed across the

supper table to Suellen: "How now, Missy! Hasn't your ardent beau

popped the question yet? Shall I be asking him his intentions?"

"I shall ask her tonight," he said, his face quivering, and he

clutched her hand and shook it. "You're so kind, Miss Scarlett."

"I'll send her to you," smiled Scarlett, starting for the parlor.

Melanie was beginning to play. The piano was sadly out of tune but

some of the chords were musical and Melanie was raising her voice

to lead the others in "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!"

Scarlett paused. It did not seem possible that war had swept over

them twice, that they were living in a ravaged country, close to

the border of starvation, when this old sweet Christmas hymn was

being sung. Abruptly she turned to Frank.

"What did you mean when you said it looked like the end of the

world to you?"

"I'll talk frankly," he said slowly, "but I wouldn't want you to be

alarming the other ladies with what I say. The war can't go on

much longer. There aren't any fresh men to fill the ranks and the

desertions are running high--higher than the army likes to admit.

You see, the men can't stand to be away from their families when

they know they're starving, so they go home to try to provide for

them. I can't blame them but it weakens the army. And the army

can't fight without food and there isn't any food. I know because,

you see, getting food is my business. I've been all up and down

this section since we retook Atlanta and there isn't enough to feed

a jaybird. It's the same way for three hundred miles south to

Savannah. The folks are starving and the railroads are torn up and

there aren't any new rifles and the ammunition is giving out and

there's no leather at all for shoes. . . . So, you see, the end is

almost here."

But the fading hopes of the Confederacy weighed less heavily on

Scarlett than his remark about the scarcity of food. It had been

her intention to send Pork out with the horse and wagon, the gold

pieces and the United States money to scour the countryside for

provisions and material for clothes. But if what Frank said was

true--

But Macon hadn't fallen. There must be food in Macon. Just as

soon as the commissary department was safely on its way, she'd

start Pork for Macon and take the chance of having the precious

horse picked up by the army. She'd have to risk it.

"Well, let's don't talk about unpleasant things tonight, Mr.

Kennedy," she said. "You go and sit in Mother's little office and