Voice quavering, for in her heart she was certain Ashley was dead.

"He's just as much alive as you are and it will do you good to have

company. And I'm going to ask Fanny Elsing, too. Mrs. Elsing

begged me to try to do something to arouse her and make her see

people--"

"Oh, but Auntie, it's cruel to force her when poor Dallas has only

been dead--"

"Now, Melly, I shall cry with vexation if you argue with me. I

guess I'm your auntie and I know what's what. And I want a party."

So Aunt Pitty had her party, and, at the last minute, a guest she

did not expect, or desire, arrived. Just when the smell of roast

rooster was filling the house, Rhett Butler, back from one of his

mysterious trips, knocked at the door, with a large box of bonbons

packed in paper lace under his arm and a mouthful of two-edged

compliments for her. There was nothing to do but invite him to

stay, although Aunt Pitty knew how the doctor and Mrs. Meade felt

about him and how bitter Fanny was against any man not in uniform.

Neither the Meades nor the Elsings would have spoken to him on the

street, but in a friend's home they would, of course, have to be

polite to him. Besides, he was now more firmly than ever under the

protection of the fragile Melanie. After he had intervened for her

to get the news about Ashley, she had announced publicly that her

home was open to him as long as he lived and no matter what other

people might say about him.

Aunt Pitty's apprehensions quieted when she saw that Rhett was on

his best behavior. He devoted himself to Fanny with such

sympathetic deference she even smiled at him, and the meal went

well. It was a princely feast. Carey Ashburn had brought a little

tea, which he had found in the tobacco pouch of a captured Yankee

en route to Andersonville, and everyone had a cup, faintly flavored

with tobacco. There was a nibble of the tough old bird for each,

an adequate amount of dressing made of corn meal and seasoned with

onions, a bowl of dried peas, and plenty of rice and gravy, the

latter somewhat watery, for there was no flour with which to

thicken it. For dessert, there was a sweet potato pie followed by

Rhett's bonbons, and when Rhett produced real Havana cigars for the

gentlemen to enjoy over their glass of blackberry wine, everyone

agreed it was indeed a Lucullan banquet.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies on the front porch, the talk

turned to war. Talk always turned to war now, all conversations on

any topic led from war or back to war--sometimes sad, often gay,

but always war. War romances, war weddings, deaths in hospitals

and on the field, incidents of camp and battle and march,

gallantry, cowardice, humor, sadness, deprivation and hope.

Always, always hope. Hope firm, unshaken despite the defeats of

the summer before.

When Captain Ashburn announced he had applied for and been granted

transfer from Atlanta to the army at Dalton, the ladies kissed his

stiffened arm with their eyes and covered their emotions of pride

by declaring he couldn't go, for then who would beau them about?

Young Carey looked confused and pleased at hearing such statements

from settled matrons and spinsters like Mrs. Meade and Melanie and

Aunt Pitty and Fanny, and tried to hope that Scarlett really meant

it.

"Why, he'll be back in no time," said the doctor, throwing an arm

over Carey's shoulder. "There'll be just one brief skirmish and

the Yankees will skedaddle back into Tennessee. And when they get

there, General Forrest will take care of them. You ladies need

have no alarm about the proximity of the Yankees, for General

Johnston and his army stands there in the mountains like an iron

rampart. Yes, an iron rampart," he repeated, relishing his phrase.

"Sherman will never pass. He'll never dislodge Old Joe."

The ladies smiled approvingly, for his lightest utterance was

regarded as incontrovertible truth. After all, men understood

these matters much better than women, and if he said General

Johnston was an iron rampart, he must be one. Only Rhett spoke.

He had been silent since supper and had sat in the twilight

listening to the war talk with a down-twisted mouth, holding the

sleeping child against his shoulder.

"I believe that rumor has it that Sherman has over one hundred

thousand men, now that his reinforcements have come up?"

The doctor answered him shortly. He had been under considerable

strain ever since he first arrived and found that one of his fellow

diners was this man whom he disliked so heartily. Only the respect

due Miss Pittypat and his presence under her roof as a guest had

restrained him from showing his feelings more obviously.

"Well, sir?" the doctor barked in reply.

"I believe Captain Ashburn said just a while ago that General

Johnston had only about forty thousand, counting the deserters who

were encouraged to come back to the colors by the last victory."

"Sir," said Mrs. Meade indignantly. "There are no deserters in the

Confederate army."

"I beg your pardon," said Rhett with mock humility. "I meant those

thousands on furlough who forgot to rejoin their regiments and

those who have been over their wounds for six months but who remain

at home, going about their usual business or doing the spring

plowing."

His eyes gleamed and Mrs. Meade bit her lip in a huff. Scarlett

wanted to giggle at her discomfiture, for Rhett had caught her

fairly. There were hundreds of men skulking in the swamps and the

mountains, defying the provost guard to drag them back to the army.

They were the ones who declared it was a "rich man's war and a poor

man's fight" and they had had enough of it. But outnumbering these

by far were men who, though carried on company rolls as deserters,

had no intention of deserting permanently. They were the ones who

had waited three years in vain for furloughs and while they waited

received ill-spelled letters from home: "We air hungry" "There

won't be no crop this year--there ain't nobody to plow." "We air

hungry." "The commissary took the shoats, and we ain't had no

money from you in months. We air livin' on dried peas."

Always the rising chorus swelled: "We are hungry, your wife, your

babies, your parents. When will it be over? When will you come

home? We are hungry, hungry." When furloughs from the rapidly

thinning army were denied, these soldiers went home without them,

to plow their land and plant their crops, repair their houses and

build up their fences. When regimental officers, understanding the

situation, saw a hard fight ahead, they wrote these men, telling

them to rejoin their companies and no questions would be asked.

Usually the men returned when they saw that hunger at home would be

held at bay for a few months longer. "Plow furloughs" were not

looked upon in the same light as desertion in the face of the

enemy, but they weakened the army just the same.

Dr. Meade hastily bridged over the uncomfortable pause, his voice

cold: "Captain Butler, the numerical difference between our troops

and those of the Yankees has never mattered. One Confederate is

worth a dozen Yankees."

The ladies nodded. Everyone knew that.

"That was true at the first of the war," said Rhett. "Perhaps it's

still true, provided the Confederate soldier has bullets for his

gun and shoes on his feet and food in his stomach. Eh, Captain

Ashburn?"

His voice was still soft and filled with specious humility. Carey

Ashburn looked unhappy, for it was obvious that he, too, disliked

Rhett intensely. He gladly would have sided with the doctor but he

could not lie. The reason he had applied for transfer to the

front, despite his useless arm, was that he realized, as the

civilian population did not, the seriousness of the situation.

There were many other men, stumping on wooden pegs, blind in one

eye, fingers blown away, one arm gone, who were quietly transferring

from the commissariat, hospital duties, mail and railroad service

back to their old fighting units. They knew Old Joe needed every

man.

He did not speak and Dr. Meade thundered, losing his temper: "Our

men have fought without shoes before and without food and won

victories. And they will fight again and win! I tell you General

Johnston cannot be dislodged! The mountain fastnesses have always

been the refuge and the strong forts of invaded peoples from

ancient times. Think of--think of Thermopylae!"

Scarlett thought hard but Thermopylae meant nothing to her.

"They died to the last man at Thermopylae, didn't they, Doctor?"

Rhett asked, and his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

"Are you being insulting, young man?"

"Doctor! I beg of you! You misunderstood me! I merely asked for

information. My memory of ancient history is poor."

"If need be, our army will die to the last man before they permit

the Yankees to advance farther into Georgia," snapped the doctor.

"But it will not be. They will drive them out of Georgia in one

skirmish."

Aunt Pittypat rose hastily and asked Scarlett to favor them with a

piano selection and a song. She saw that the conversation was

rapidly getting into deep and stormy water. She had known very

well there would be trouble if she invited Rhett to supper. There

was always trouble when he was present. Just how he started it,

she never exactly understood. Dear! Dear! What did Scarlett see