It wasn't long before the war was over and--well, there was a lot

of china and cots and mattresses and blankets and nobody claiming

them. I suppose rightfully they belonged to the Yankees. I think

those were the terms of the surrender, weren't they?"

"Um," said Scarlett absently. She was getting warmer now and a

little drowsy.

"I don't know till now if I did right," he said, a little

querulously. "But the way I figured it, all that stuff wouldn't do

the Yankees a bit of good. They'd probably burn it. And our folks

had paid good solid money for it, and I thought it still ought to

belong to the Confederacy or to the Confederates. Do you see what

I mean?"

"Um."

"I'm glad you agree with me, Miss Scarlett. In a way, it's been on

my conscience. Lots of folks have told me: 'Oh, forget about it,

Frank,' but I can't. I couldn't hold up my head if I thought I'd

done what wasn't right. Do you think I did right?"

"Of course," she said, wondering what the old fool had been talking

about. Some struggle with his conscience. When a man got as old

as Frank Kennedy he ought to have learned not to bother about

things that didn't matter. But he always was so nervous and fussy

and old maidish.

"I'm glad to hear you say it. After the surrender I had about ten

dollars in silver and nothing else in the world. You know what

they did to Jonesboro and my house and store there. I just didn't

know what to do. But I used the ten dollars to put a roof on an

old store down by Five Points and I moved the hospital equipment in

and started selling it. Everybody needed beds and china and

mattresses and I sold them cheap, because I figured it was about as

much other folks' stuff as it was mine. But I cleared money on it

and bought some more stuff and the store just went along fine. I

think I'll make a lot of money on it if things pick up."

At the word "money," her mind came back to him, crystal clear.

"You say you've made money?"

He visibly expanded under her interest. Few women except Suellen

had ever given him more than perfunctory courtesy and it was very

flattering to have a former belle like Scarlett hanging on his

words. He slowed the horse so they would not reach home before he

had finished his story.

"I'm not a millionaire, Miss Scarlett, and considering the money I

used to have, what I've got now sounds small. But I made a

thousand dollars this year. Of course, five hundred of it went to

paying for new stock and repairing the store and paying the rent.

But I've made five hundred clear and as things are certainly

picking up, I ought to clear two thousand next year. I can sure

use it, too, for you see, I've got another iron in the fire."

Interest had sprung up sharply in her at the talk of money. She

veiled her eyes with thick bristly lashes and moved a little closer

to him.

"What does that mean, Mr. Kennedy?"

He laughed and slapped the reins against the horse's back.

"I guess I'm boring you, talking about business, Miss Scarlett. A

pretty little woman like you doesn't need to know anything about

business."

The old fool.

"Oh, I know I'm a goose about business but I'm so interested!

Please tell me all about it and you can explain what I don't

understand."

"Well, my other iron is a sawmill."

"A what?"

"A mill to cut up lumber and plane it. I haven't bought it yet but

I'm going to. There's a man named Johnson who has one, way out

Peachtree road, and he's anxious to sell it. He needs some cash

right away, so he wants to sell and stay and run it for me at a

weekly wage. It's one of the few mills in this section, Miss

Scarlett. The Yankees destroyed most of them. And anyone who owns

a sawmill owns a gold mine, for nowadays you can ask your own price

for lumber. The Yankees burned so many houses here and there

aren't enough for people to live in and it looks like folks have

gone crazy about rebuilding. They can t get enough lumber and they

can't get it fast enough. People are just pouring into Atlanta

now, all the folks from the country districts who can't make a go

of farming without darkies and the Yankees and Carpetbaggers who

are swarming in trying to pick our bones a little barer than they

already are. I tell you Atlanta's going to be a big town soon.

They've got to have lumber for their houses, so I'm going to buy

this mill just as soon as--well, as soon as some of the bills owing

me are paid. By this time next year, I ought to be breathing

easier about money. I--I guess you know why I'm so anxious to make

money quickly, don't you?"

He blushed and cackled again. He's thinking of Suellen, Scarlett

thought in disgust.

For a moment she considered asking him to lend her three hundred

dollars, but wearily she rejected the idea. He would be

embarrassed; he would stammer; he would offer excuses, but he

wouldn't lend it to her. He had worked hard for it, so he could

marry Suellen in the spring and if he parted with it, his wedding

would be postponed indefinitely. Even if she worked on his

sympathies and his duty toward his future family and gained his

promise of a loan, she knew Suellen would never permit it. Suellen

was getting more and more worried over the fact that she was

practically an old maid and she would move heaven and earth to

prevent anything from delaying her marriage.

What was there in that whining complaining girl to make this old

fool so anxious to give her a soft nest? Suellen didn't deserve a

loving husband and the profits of a store and a sawmill. The

minute Sue got her hands on a little money she'd give herself

unendurable airs and never contribute one cent toward the upkeep of

Tara. Not Suellen! She'd think herself well out of it and not

care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she

had pretty clothes and a "Mrs." in front of her name.

As Scarlett thought of Suellen's secure future and the precarious

one of herself and Tara, anger flamed in her at the unfairness of

life. Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street,

lest Frank should see her expression. She was going to lose

everything she had, while Sue-- Suddenly a determination was born

in her.

Suellen should not have Frank and his store and his mill!

Suellen didn't deserve them. She was going to have them herself.

She thought of Tara and remembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a

rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she grasped at the

last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life. Rhett had

failed her but the Lord had provided Frank.

But can I get him? Her fingers clenched as she looked unseeingly

into the rain. Can I make him forget Sue and propose to me real

quick? If I could make Rhett almost propose, I know I could get

Frank! Her eyes went over him, her lids flickering. Certainly,

he's no beauty, she thought coolly, and he's got very bad teeth and

his breath smells bad and he's old enough to be my father.

Moreover, he's nervous and timid and well meaning, and I don't know

of any more damning qualities a man can have. But at least, he's a

gentleman and I believe I could stand living with him better than

with Rhett. Certainly I could manage him easier. At any rate,

beggars can't be choosers.

That he was Suellen's fiance caused her no qualm of conscience.

After the complete moral collapse which had sent her to Atlanta and

to Rhett, the appropriation of her sister's betrothed seemed a

minor affair and one not to be bothered with at this time.

With the rousing of fresh hope, her spine stiffened and she forgot

that her feet were wet and cold. She looked at Frank so steadily,

her eyes narrowing, that he became somewhat alarmed and she dropped

her gaze swiftly, remembering Rhett's words: "I've seen eyes like

yours above a dueling pistol. . . . They evoke no ardor in the

male breast."

"What's the matter, Miss Scarlett? You got a chill?"

"Yes," she answered helplessly. "Would you mind--" She hesitated

timidly. "Would you mind if I put my hand in your coat pocket?

It's so cold and my muff is soaked through."

"Why--why--of course not! And you haven't any gloves! My, my,

what a brute I've been idling along like this, talking my head off

when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire. Giddap,

Sally! By the way, Miss Scarlett, I've been so busy talking about

myself I haven't even asked you what you were doing in this section

in this weather?"

"I was at the Yankee headquarters," she answered before she

thought. His sandy brows went up in astonishment.

"But Miss Scarlett! The soldiers-- Why--"

"Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie," she prayed

hastily. It would never do for Frank to suspect she had seen

Rhett. Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafe

for decent women to speak to.

"I went there--I went there to see if--if any of the officers would

buy fancy work from me to send home to their wives. I embroider

very nicely."

He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with

bewilderment.

"You went to the Yankees-- But Miss Scarlett! You shouldn't.

Why--why . . . Surely your father doesn't know! Surely, Miss

Pittypat--"

"Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat!" she cried in real

anxiety and burst into tears. It was easy to cry, because she was

so cold and miserable, but the effect was startling. Frank could

not have been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly

begun disrobing. He clicked his tongue against his teeth several

times, muttering "My! My!" and made futile gestures at her. A

daring thought went through his mind that he should draw her head

onto his shoulder and pat her but he had never done this to any

woman and hardly knew how to go about it. Scarlett O'Hara, so high

spirited and pretty, crying here in his buggy. Scarlett O'Hara,

the proudest of the proud, trying to sell needlework to the

Yankees. His heart burned.

She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered

that all was not well at Tara. Mr. O'Hara was still "not himself

at all," and there wasn't enough food to go around for so many. So

she had to come to Atlanta to try to make a little money for

herself and her boy. Frank clicked his tongue again and suddenly

he found that her head was on his shoulder. He did not quite know

how it got there. Surely he had not placed it there, but there her

head was and there was Scarlett helplessly sobbing against his thin

chest, an exciting and novel sensation for him. He patted her

shoulder timidly, gingerly at first, and when she did not rebuff

him he became bolder and patted her firmly. What a helpless,

sweet, womanly little thing she was. And how brave and silly to

try her hand at making money by her needle. But dealing with the

Yankees--that was too much.

"I won't tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss

Scarlett, that you won't do anything like this again. The idea of

your father's daughter--"

Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly.

"But, Mr. Kennedy, I must do something. I must take care of my

poor little boy and there is no one to look after us now."

"You are a brave little woman," he pronounced, "but I won't have

you do this sort of thing. Your family would die of shame."

"Then what will I do?" The swimming eyes looked up to him as if

she knew he knew everything and was hanging on his words.

"Well, I don't know right now. But I'll think of something."

"Oh, I know you will! You are so smart--Frank."

She had never called him by his first name before and the sound

came to him as a pleasant shock and surprise. The poor girl was

probably so upset she didn't even notice her slip. He felt very

kindly toward her and very protecting. If there was anything he

could do for Suellen O'Hara's sister, he would certainly do it. He

pulled out a red bandanna handkerchief and handed it to her and she

wiped her eyes and began to smile tremulously.

"I'm such a silly little goose," she said apologetically. "Please

forgive me."

"You aren't a silly little goose. You're a very brave little woman

and you are trying to carry to heavy a load. I'm afraid Miss

Pittypat isn't going to be much help to you. I hear she lost most

of her property and Mr. Henry Hamilton's in bad shape himself. I

only wish I had a home to offer you shelter in. But, Miss

Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are

married, there'll always be a place for you under our roof and for

Wade Hampton too."

Now was the time! Surely the saints and angels watched over her to

give her such a Heaven-sent opportunity. She managed to look very

startled and embarrassed and opened her mouth as if to speak

quickly and then shut it with a pop.

"Don't tell me you didn't know I was to be your brother-in-law this

spring," he said with nervous jocularity.

And then, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, he questioned in

alarm: "What's the matter? Miss Sue's not ill, is she?"

"Oh, no! No!"

"There is something wrong. You must tell me."

"Oh, I can't! I didn't know! I thought surely she must have

written you-- Oh, how mean!"

"Miss Scarlett, what is it?"

"Oh, Frank, I didn't mean to let it out but I thought, of course,

you knew--that she had written you--"

"Written me what?" He was trembling.

"Oh, to do this to a fine man like you!"

"What's she done?"

"She didn't write you? Oh, I guess she was too ashamed to write

you. She should be ashamed! Oh, to have such a mean sister!"

By this time, Frank could not even get questions to his lips. He

sat staring at her, gray faced, the reins slack in his hands.

"She's going to marry Tony Fontaine next month. Oh, I'm so sorry,

Frank. So sorry to be the one to tell you. She just got tired of

waiting and she was afraid she'd be an old maid."

Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett

out of the buggy. She had evidently been standing there for some

time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutched tightly

about her showed rain spots. Her wrinkled black face was a study