I'll send Suellen to you so you can--well, so you'll have a little

privacy."

Blushing, smiling, Frank slipped out of the room and Scarlett

watched him go.

"What a pity he can't marry her now," she thought. "That would be

one less mouth to feed."

CHAPTER XXIX

The following April General Johnston, who had been given back the

shattered remnants of his old command, surrendered them in North

Carolina and the war was over. But not until two weeks later did

the news reach Tara. There was too much to do at Tara for anyone

to waste time traveling abroad and hearing gossip and, as the

neighbors were just as busy as they, there was little visiting and

news spread slowly.

Spring plowing was at its height and the cotton and garden seed

Pork had brought from Macon was being put into the ground. Pork

had been almost worthless since the trip, so proud was he of

returning safely with his wagon-load of dress goods, seed, fowls,

hams, side meat and meal. Over and over, he told the story of his

many narrow escapes, of the bypaths and country lanes he had taken

on his return to Tara, the unfrequented roads, the old trails, the

bridle paths. He had been five weeks on the road, agonizing weeks

for Scarlett. But she did not upbraid him on his return, for she

was happy that he had made the trip successfully and pleased that

he brought back so much of the money she had given him. She had a

shrewd suspicion that the reason he had so much money left over was

that he had not bought the fowls or most of the food. Pork would

have taken shame to himself had he spent her money when there were

unguarded hen coops along the road and smokehouses handy.

Now that they had a little food, everyone at Tara was busy trying

to restore some semblance of naturalness to life. There was work

for every pair of hands, too much work, never-ending work. The

withered stalks of last year's cotton had to be removed to make way

for this year's seeds and the balky horse, unaccustomed to the

plow, dragged unwillingly through the fields. Weeds had to be

pulled from the garden and the seeds planted, firewood had to be

cut, a beginning had to be made toward replacing the pens and the

miles and miles of fences so casually burned by the Yankees. The

snares Pork set for rabbits had to be visited twice a day and the

fishlines in the river rebaited. There were beds to be made and

floors to be swept, food to be cooked and dishes washed, hogs and

chickens to be fed and eggs gathered. The cow had to be milked and

pastured near the swamp and someone had to watch her all day for

fear the Yankees or Frank Kennedy's men would return and take her.

Even little Wade had his duties. Every morning he went out

importantly with a basket to pick up twigs and chips to start the

fires with.

It was the Fontaine boys, the first of the County men home from the

war, who brought the news of the surrender. Alex, who still had

boots, was walking and Tony, barefooted, was riding on the bare

back of a mule. Tony always managed to get the best of things in

that family. They were swarthier than ever from four years'

exposure to sun and storm, thinner, more wiry, and the wild black

beards they brought back from the war made them seem like

strangers.

On their way to Mimosa and eager for home, they only stopped a

moment at Tara to kiss the girls and give them news of the

surrender. It was all over, they said, all finished, and they did

not seem to care much or want to talk about it. All they wanted to

know was whether Mimosa had been burned. On the way south from

Atlanta, they had passed chimney after chimney where the homes of

friends had stood and it seemed almost too much to hope that their

own house had been spared. They sighed with relief at the welcome

news and laughed, slapping their thighs when Scarlett told them of

Sally's wild ride and how neatly she had cleared their hedge.

"She's a spunky girl," said Tony, "and it's rotten luck for her,

Joe getting killed. You all got any chewing tobacco, Scarlett?"

"Nothing but rabbit tobacco. Pa smokes it in a corn cob."

"I haven't fallen that low yet," said Tony, "but I'll probably come

to it."

"Is Dimity Munroe all right?" asked Alex, eagerly but a little

embarrassed, and Scarlett recalled vaguely that he had been sweet

on Sally's younger sister.

"Oh, yes. She's living with her aunt over in Fayetteville now.

You know their house in Lovejoy was burned. And the rest of her

folks are in Macon."

"What he means is--has Dimity married some brave colonel in the

Home Guard?" jeered Tony, and Alex turned furious eyes upon him.

"Of course, she isn't married," said Scarlett, amused.

"Maybe it would be better if she had," said Alex gloomily. "How

the hell--I beg your pardon, Scarlett. But how can a man ask a

girl to marry him when his darkies are all freed and his stock gone

and he hasn't got a cent in his pockets?"

"You know that wouldn't bother Dimity," said Scarlett. She could

afford to be loyal to Dimity and say nice things about her, for

Alex Fontaine had never been one of her own beaux.

"Hell's afire-- Well, I beg your pardon again. I'll have to quit

swearing or Grandma will sure tan my hide. I'm not asking any girl

to marry a pauper. It mightn't bother her but it would bother me."

While Scarlett talked to the boys on the front porch, Melanie,

Suellen and Carreen slipped silently into the house as soon as they

heard the news of the surrender. After the boys had gone, cutting

across the back fields of Tara toward home, Scarlett went inside

and heard the girls sobbing together on the sofa in Ellen's little

office. It was all over, the bright beautiful dream they had loved

and hoped for, the Cause which had taken their friends, lovers,

husbands and beggared their families. The Cause they had thought

could never fall had fallen forever.

But for Scarlett, there were no tears. In the first moment when

she heard the news she thought: Thank God! Now the cow won't be

stolen. Now the horse is safe. Now we can take the silver out of

the well and everybody can have a knife and fork. Now I won't be

afraid to drive round the country looking for something to eat.

What a relief! Never again would she start in fear at the sound of

hooves. Never again would she wake in the dark nights, holding her

breath to listen, wondering if it were reality or only a dream that

she heard in the yard the rattle of bits, the stamping of hooves

and the harsh crying of orders by the Yankees. And, best of all,

Tara was safe! Now her worst nightmare would never come true. Now

she would never have to stand on the lawn and see smoke billowing

from the beloved house and hear the roar of flames as the roof fell

in.

Yes, the Cause was dead but war had always seemed foolish to her

and peace was better. She had never stood starry eyed when the

Stars and Bars ran up a pole or felt cold chills when "Dixie"

sounded. She had not been sustained through privations, the

sickening duties of nursing, the fears of the siege and the hunger

of the last few months by the fanatic glow which made all these

things endurable to others, if only the Cause prospered. It was

all over and done with and she was not going to cry about it.

All over! The war which had seemed so endless, the war which,

unbidden and unwanted, had cut her life in two, had made so clean a

cleavage that it was difficult to remember those other care-free

days. She could look back, unmoved, at the pretty Scarlett with

her fragile green morocco slippers and her flounces fragrant with

lavender but she wondered if she could be that same girl. Scarlett

O'Hara, with the County at her feet, a hundred slaves to do her

bidding, the wealth of Tara like a wall behind her and doting

parents anxious to grant any desire of her heart. Spoiled,

careless Scarlett who had never known an ungratified wish except

where Ashley was concerned.

Somewhere, on the long road that wound through those four years,

the girl with her sachet and dancing slippers had slipped away and

there was left a woman with sharp green eyes, who counted pennies

and turned her hands to many menial tasks, a woman to whom nothing

was left from the wreckage except the indestructible red earth on

which she stood.

As she stood in the hall, listening to the girls sobbing, her mind

was busy.

"We'll plant more cotton, lots more. I'll send Pork to Macon

tomorrow to buy more seed. Now the Yankees won't burn it and our

troops won't need it. Good Lord! Cotton ought to go sky high this

fall!"

She went into the little office and, disregarding the weeping girls

on the sofa, seated herself at the secretary and picked up a quill

to balance the cost of more cotton seed against her remaining cash.

"The war is over," she thought and suddenly she dropped the quill

as a wild happiness flooded her. The war was over and Ashley--if

Ashley was alive he'd be coming home! She wondered if Melanie, in

the midst of mourning for the lost Cause, had thought of this.

"Soon we'll get a letter--no, not a letter. We can't get letters.

But soon--oh, somehow he'll let us know!"

But the days passed into weeks and there was no news from Ashley.

The mail service in the South was uncertain and in the rural

districts there was none at all. Occasionally a passing traveler

from Atlanta brought a note from Aunt Pitty tearfully begging the

girls to come back. But never news of Ashley.

After the surrender, an ever-present feud over the horse smoldered

between Scarlett and Suellen. Now that there was no danger of

Yankees, Suellen wanted to go calling on the neighbors. Lonely and

missing the happy sociability of the old days, Suellen longed to

visit friends, if for no other reason than to assure herself that

the rest of the County was as bad off as Tara. But Scarlett was

adamant. The horse was for work, to drag logs from the woods, to

plow and for Pork to ride in search of food. On Sundays he had

earned the right to graze in the pasture and rest. If Suellen

wanted to go visiting she could go afoot.

Before the last year Suellen had never walked a hundred yards in

her life and this prospect was anything but pleasing. So she

stayed at home and nagged and cried and said, once too often: "Oh,

if only Mother was here!" At that, Scarlett gave her the long-

promised slap, hitting her so hard it knocked her screaming to the

bed and caused great consternation throughout the house.

Thereafter, Suellen whined the less, at least in Scarlett's

presence.

Scarlett spoke truthfully when she said she wanted the horse to

rest but that was only half of the truth. The other half was that

she had paid one round of calls on the County in the first month

after the surrender and the sight of old friends and old

plantations had shaken her courage more than she liked to admit.

The Fontaines had fared best of any, thanks to Sally's hard ride,

but it was flourishing only by comparison with the desperate

situation of the other neighbors. Grandma Fontaine had never

completely recovered from the heart attack she had the day she led

the others in beating out the flames and saving the house. Old Dr.

Fontaine was convalescing slowly from an amputated arm. Alex and

Tony were turning awkward hands to plows and hoe handles. They

leaned over the fence rail to shake hands with Scarlett when she

called and they laughed at her rickety wagon, their black eyes

bitter, for they were laughing at themselves as well as her. She

asked to buy seed corn from them and they promised it and fell to

discussing farm problems. They had twelve chickens, two cows, five

hogs and the mule they brought home from the war. One of the hogs

had just died and they were worried about losing the others. At

hearing such serious words about hogs from these ex-dandies who had

never given life a more serious thought than which cravat was most

fashionable, Scarlett laughed and this time her laugh was bitter

too.

They had all made her welcome at Mimosa and had insisted on giving,

not selling, her the seed corn. The quick Fontaine tempers flared

when she put a greenback on the table and they flatly refused

payment. Scarlett took the corn and privately slipped a dollar

bill into Sally's hand. Sally looked like a different person from

the girl who had greeted her eight months before when Scarlett

first came home to Tara. Then she had been pale and sad but there

had been a buoyancy about her. Now that buoyancy had gone, as if

the surrender had taken all hope from her.

"Scarlett," she whispered as she clutched the bill, "what was the

good of it all? Why did we ever fight? Oh, my poor Joe! Oh, my

poor baby!"

"I don't know why we fought and I don't care," said Scarlett. "And