Voice cried in accents of pleasure and astonishment: "Surely, it

can't be Miss Scarlett!"

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy!" she cried, splashing across the road and leaning

on the muddy wheel, heedless of further damage to the cloak. "I

was never so glad to see anybody in my life!"

He colored with pleasure at the obvious sincerity of her words,

hastily squirted a stream of tobacco juice from the opposite side

of the buggy and leaped spryly to the ground. He shook her hand

enthusiastically and holding up the tarpaulin, assisted her into

the buggy.

"Miss Scarlett, what are you doing over in this section by

yourself? Don't you know it's dangerous these days? And you are

soaking wet. Here, wrap the robe around your feet."

As he fussed over her, clucking like a hen, she gave herself up to

the luxury of being taken care of. It was nice to have a man

fussing and clucking and scolding, even if it was only that old

maid in pants, Frank Kennedy. It was especially soothing after

Rhett's brutal treatment. And oh, how good to see a County face

when she was so far from home! He was well dressed, she noticed,

and the buggy was new too. The horse looked young and well fed,

but Frank looked far older than his years, older than on that

Christmas eve when he had been at Tara with his men. He was thin

and sallow faced and his yellow eyes were watery and sunken in

creases of loose flesh. His ginger-colored beard was scantier than

ever, streaked with tobacco juice and as ragged as if he clawed at

it incessantly. But he looked bright and cheerful, in contrast

with the lines of sorrow and worry and weariness which Scarlett saw

in faces everywhere.

"It's a pleasure to see you," said Frank warmly. "I didn't know

you were in town. I saw Miss Pittypat only last week and she

didn't tell me you were coming. Did--er--ahem--did anyone else

come up from Tara with you?"

He was thinking of Suellen, the silly old fool.

"No," she said, wrapping the warm lap robe about her and trying to

pull it up around her neck. "I came alone. I didn't give Aunt

Pitty any warning."

He chirruped to the horse and it plodded off, picking its way

carefully down the slick road.

"All the folks at Tara well?"

"Oh, yes, so-so."

She must think of something to talk about, yet it was so hard to

talk. Her mind was leaden with defeat and all she wanted was to

lie back in this warm blanket and say to herself: "I won't think

of Tara now. I'll think of it later, when it won't hurt so much."

If she could just get him started talking on some subject which

would hold him all the way home, so she would have nothing to do

but murmur "How nice" and "You certainly are smart" at intervals.

"Mr. Kennedy, I'm so surprised to see you. I know I've been a bad

girl, not keeping up with old friends, but I didn't know you were

here in Atlanta. I thought somebody told me you were in Marietta."

"I do business in Marietta, a lot of business," he said. "Didn't

Miss Suellen tell you I had settled in Atlanta? Didn't she tell

you about my store?"

Vaguely she had a memory of Suellen chattering about Frank and a

store but she never paid much heed to anything Suellen said. It

had been sufficient to know that Frank was alive and would some day

take Suellen off her hands.

"No, not a word," she lied. "Have you a store? How smart you must

be!"

He looked a little hurt at hearing that Suellen had not published

the news but brightened at the flattery.

"Yes, I've got a store, and a pretty good one I think. Folks tell

me I'm a born merchant."

He laughed pleasedly, the tittery cackling laugh which she always

found so annoying.

Conceited old fool, she thought.

"Oh, you could be a success at anything you turned your hand to,

Mr. Kennedy. But how on earth did you ever get started with the

store? When I saw you Christmas before last you said you didn't

have a cent in the world."

He cleared his throat raspingly, clawed at his whiskers and smiled

his nervous timid smile.

"Well, it's a long story, Miss Scarlett."

Thank the Lord! she thought. Perhaps it will hold him till we get

home. And aloud: "Do tell!"

"You recall when we came to Tara last, hunting for supplies? Well,

not long after that I went into active service. I mean real

fighting. No more commissary for me. There wasn't much need for a

commissary, Miss Scarlett, because we couldn't hardly pick up a

thing for the army, and I thought the place for an able-bodied man

was in the fighting line. Well, I fought along with the cavalry

for a spell till I got a minie ball through the shoulder."

He looked very proud and Scarlett said: "How dreadful!"

"Oh, it wasn't so bad, just a flesh wound," he said deprecatingly.

"I was sent down south to a hospital and when I was just about

well, the Yankee raiders came through. My, my, but that was a hot

time! We didn't have much warning and all of us who could walk

helped haul out the army stores and the hospital equipment to the

train tracks to move it. We'd gotten one train about loaded when

the Yankees rode in one end of town and out we went the other end

as fast as we could go. My, my, that was a mighty sad sight,

sitting on top of that train and seeing the Yankees burn those

supplies we had to leave at the depot. Miss Scarlett, they burned

about a half-mile of stuff we had piled up there along the tracks.

We just did get away ourselves."

"How dreadful!"

"Yes, that's the word. Dreadful. Our men had come back into

Atlanta then and so our train was sent here. Well, Miss Scarlett,