If she talked about him and she mustn't cry, not until she was

safely in the wagon with Will and out in the country where no

stranger could see her. Will wouldn't matter. He was just like a

brother.

"Alex, I don't want to talk about it," she said shortly.

"I don't blame you one bit, Scarlett," said Alex while the dark

blood of anger flooded his face. "If it was my sister, I'd--well,

Scarlett, I've never yet said a harsh word about any woman, but

personally I think somebody ought to take a rawhide whip to

Suellen."

What foolishness was he talking about now, she wondered. What had

Suellen to do with it all?

"Everybody around here feels the same way about her, I'm sorry to

say. Will's the only one who takes up for her--and, of course,

Miss Melanie, but she's a saint and won't see bad in anyone and--"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it," she said coldly but Alex

did not seem rebuffed. He looked as though he understood her

rudeness and that was annoying. She didn't want to hear bad

tidings about her own family from an outsider, didn't want him to

know of her ignorance of what had happened. Why hadn't Will sent

her the full details?

She wished Alex wouldn't look at her so hard. She felt that he

realized her condition and it embarrassed her. But what Alex was

thinking as he peered at her in the twilight was that her face had

changed so completely he wondered how he had ever recognized her.

Perhaps it was because she was going to have a baby. Women did

look like the devil at such times. And, of course, she must be

feeling badly about old man O'Hara. She had been his pet. But,

no, the change was deeper than that. She really looked as if she

had three square meals a day. And the hunted-animal look had

partly gone from her eyes. Now, the eyes which had been fearful

and desperate were hard. There was an air of command, assurance

and determination about her, even when she smiled. Bet she led old

Frank a merry life! Yes, she had changed. She was a handsome

woman, to be sure, but all that pretty, sweet softness had gone

from her face and that flattering way of looking up at a man, like

he knew more than God Almighty, had utterly vanished.

Well, hadn't they all changed? Alex looked down at his rough

clothes and his face fell into its usual bitter lines. Sometimes

at night when he lay awake, wondering how his mother was going to

get that operation and how poor dead Joe's little boy was going to

get an education and how he was going to get money for another

mule, he wished the war was still going on, wished it had gone on

forever. They didn't know their luck then. There was always

something to eat in the army, even if it was just corn bread,

always somebody to give orders and none of this torturing sense of

facing problems that couldn't be solved--nothing to bother about in

the army except getting killed. And then there was Dimity Munroe.

Alex wanted to marry her and he knew he couldn't when so many were

already looking to him for support. He had loved her for so long

and now the roses were fading from her cheeks and the joy from her

eyes. If only Tony hadn't had to run away to Texas. Another man

on the place would make all the difference in the world. His

lovable bad-tempered little brother, penniless somewhere in the

West. Yes, they had all changed. And why not? He sighed heavily.

"I haven't thanked you for what you and Frank did for Tony," he

said. "It was you who helped him get away, wasn't it? It was fine

of you. I heard in a roundabout way that he was safe in Texas. I

was afraid to write and ask you--but did you or Frank lend him any

money? I want to repay--"

"Oh, Alex, please hush! Not now!" cried Scarlett. For once, money

meant nothing to her.

Alex was silent for a moment.

"I'll get Will for you," he said, "and we'll all be over tomorrow

for the funeral."

As he picked up the sack of oats and turned away, a wobbly-wheeled

wagon swayed out of a side street and creaked up to them. Will

called from the seat: "I'm sorry I'm late, Scarlett."

Climbing awkwardly down from the wagon, he stumped toward her and,

bending, kissed her cheek. Will had never kissed her before, had

never failed to precede her name with "Miss" and, while it

surprised her, it warmed her heart and pleased her very much. He

lifted her carefully over the wheel and into the wagon and, looking

down, she saw that it was the same old rickety wagon in which she

had fled from Atlanta. How had it ever held together so long?

Will must have kept it patched up very well. It made her slightly

sick to look at it and to remember that night. If it took the

shoes off her feet or food from Aunt Pitty's table, she'd see that

there was a new wagon at Tara and this one burned.

Will did not speak at first and Scarlett was grateful. He threw

his battered straw hat into the back of the wagon, clucked to the

horse and they moved off. Will was just the same, lank and

gangling, pink of hair, mild of eye, patient as a draft animal.

They left the village behind and turned into the red road to Tara.

A faint pink still lingered about the edges of the sky and fat

feathery clouds were tinged with gold and palest green. The

stillness of the country twilight came down about them as calming

as a prayer. How had she ever borne it, she thought, away for all

these months, away from the fresh smell of country air, the plowed

earth and the sweetness of summer nights? The moist red earth

smelled so good, so familiar, so friendly, she wanted to get out

and scoop up a handful. The honeysuckle which draped the gullied

red sides of the road in tangled greenery was piercingly fragrant

as always after rain, the sweetest perfume in the world. Above

their heads a flock of chimney swallows whirled suddenly on swift

wings and now and then a rabbit scurried startled across the road,

his white tail bobbing like an eiderdown powder puff. She saw with

pleasure that the cotton stood well, as they passed between plowed

fields where the green bushes reared themselves sturdily out of the

red earth. How beautiful all this was! The soft gray mist in the

swampy bottoms, the red earth and growing cotton, the sloping

fields with curving green rows and the black pines rising behind

everything like sable walls. How had she ever stayed in Atlanta so

long?

"Scarlett, before I tell you about Mr. O'Hara--and I want to tell

you everything before you get home--I want to ask your opinion on a

matter. I figger you're the head of the house now."

"What is it, Will?"

He turned his mild sober gaze on her for a moment.

"I just wanted your approval to my marryin' Suellen."

Scarlett clutched the seat, so surprised that she almost fell

backwards. Marry Suellen! She'd never thought of anybody marrying

Suellen since she had taken Frank Kennedy from her. Who would have

Suellen?

"Goodness, Will!"

"Then I take it you don't mind?"

"Mind? No, but-- Why, Will, you've taken my breath away! You

marry Suellen? Will, I always thought you were sweet on Carreen."

Will kept his eyes on the horse and flapped the reins. His profile

did not change but she thought he sighed slightly.

"Maybe I was," he said.

"Well, won't she have you?"

"I never asked her."

"Oh, Will, you're a fool. Ask her. She's worth two of Suellen!"

"Scarlett, you don't know a lot of things that's been going on at

Tara. You ain't favored us with much of your attention these last

months."

"I haven't, haven't I?" she flared. "What do you suppose I've been

doing in Atlanta? Riding around in a coach and four and going to

balls? Haven't I sent you money every month? Haven't I paid the

taxes and fixed the roof and bought the new plow and the mules?

Haven't--"

"Now, don't fly off the handle and get your Irish up," he

interrupted imperturbably. "If anybody knows what you've done, I

do, and it's been two men's work."

Slightly mollified, she questioned, "Well then, what do you mean?"

"Well, you've kept the roof over us and food in the pantry and I

ain't denyin' that, but you ain't given much thought to what's been

goin' on in anybody's head here at Tara. I ain't blamin' you,

Scarlett. That's just your way. You warn't never very much

interested in what was in folks' heads. But what I'm tryin' to

tell you is that I didn't never ask Miss Carreen because I knew it

wouldn't be no use. She's been like a little sister to me and I

guess she talks to me plainer than to anybody in the world. But

she never got over that dead boy and she never will. And I might

as well tell you now she's aimin' to go in a convent over to

Charleston."

"Are you joking?"

"Well, I knew it would take you back and I just want to ask you,

Scarlett, don't you argue with her about it or scold her or laugh

at her. Let her go. It's all she wants now. Her heart's broken."

"But God's nightgown! Lots of people's hearts have been broken and

they didn't run off to convents. Look at me. I lost a husband."

"But your heart warn't broken," Will said calmly and, picking up a

straw from the bottom of the wagon, he put it in his mouth and

chewed slowly. That remark took the wind out of her. As always

when she heard the truth spoken, no matter how unpalatable it was,

basic honesty forced her to acknowledge it as truth. She was

silent a moment, trying to accustom herself to the idea of Carreen

as a nun.

"Promise you won't fuss at her."

"Oh, well, I promise," and then she looked at him with a new

understanding and some amazement. Will had loved Carreen, loved

her now enough to take her part and make her retreat easy. And yet

he wanted to marry Suellen.

"Well, what's all this about Suellen? You don't care for her, do

you?"

"Oh, yes, I do in a way," he said removing the straw and surveying