飘

　“Yankees？”　said　Gerald　vaguely。　“But　the　Yankees　have　already　been　here。”
　“Mother　of　God！”　cried　Scarlett；　her　eyes　meeting　Melanie’s　frightened　eyes。　For　a　swift　instant　there　went　through　her　memory　again　the　horrors　of　her　last　night　in　Atlanta；　the　ruined　homes　that　dotted　the　countryside；　all　the　stories　of　rape　and　torture　and　murder。　She　saw　again　the　Yankee　soldier　standing　in　the　hall　with　Ellen’s　sewing　box　in　his　hand。　She　thought：　“I　shall　die。　I　shall　die　right　here。　I　thought　we　were　through　with　all　that。　I　shall　die。　I　can’t　stand　any　more。”
　Then　her　eyes　fell　on　the　horse　saddled　and　hitched　and　waiting　for　Pork　to　ride　him　to　the　Tarleton　place　on　an　errand。　Her　horse！　Her　only　horse！　The　Yankees　would　take　him　and　the　cow　and　the　calf。　And　the　sow　and　her　litter—　Oh；　how　many　tiring　hours　it　had　taken　to　catch　that　sow　and　her　agile　young！　And　they’d　take　the　rooster　and　the　setting　hens　and　the　ducks　the　Fontaines　had　given　her。　And　the　apples　and　the　yams　in　the　pantry　bins。　And　the　flour　and　rice　and　dried　peas。　And　the　money　in　the　Yankee　soldier’s　wallet。　They’d　take　everything　and　leave　them　to　starve。
　“They　shan’t　have　them！”　she　cried　aloud　and　they　all　turned　startled　faces　to　her；　fearful　her　mind　had　cracked　under　the　tidings。　“I　won’t　go　hungry！　They　shan’t　have　them！”
　“What　is　it；　Scarlett？　What　is　it？”
　“The　horse！　The　cow！　The　pigs！　They　shan’t　have　them！　I　won’t　let　them　have　them！”
　She　turned　swiftly　to　the　four　negroes　who　huddled　in　the　doorway；　their　black　faces　a　peculiarly　ashen　shade。
　“The　swamp；”　she　said　rapidly。
　“Whut　swamp？”
　“The　river　swamp；　you　fools！　Take　the　pigs　to　the　swamp。　All　of　you。　Quickly。　Pork；　you　and　Prissy　crawl　under　the　house　and　get　the　pigs　out。　Suellen；　you　and　Carreen　fill　the　baskets　with　as　much　food　as　you　can　carry　and　get　to　the　woods。　Mammy；　put　the　silver　in　the　well　again。　And　Pork！　Pork；　listen　to　me；　don’t　stand　there　like　that！　Take　Pa　with　you。　Don’t　ask　me　where！　Anywhere！　Go　with　Pork；　Pa。　That’s　a　sweet　pa。”
　Even　in　her　frenzy　she　thought　what　the　sight　of　bluecoats　might　do　to　Gerald’s　wavering　mind。　She　stopped　and　wrung　her　hands　and　the　frightened　sobbing　of　little　Wade　who　was　clutching　Melanie’s　skirt　added　to　her　panic。
　“What　shall　I　do；　Scarlett？”　Melanie’s　voice　was　calm　amid　the　wailing　and　tears　and　scurrying　feet。　Though　her　face　was　paper　white　and　her　whole　body　trembled；　the　very　quietness　of　her　voice　steadied　Scarlett；　revealing　to　her　that　they　all　looked　to　her　for　commands；　for　guidance。
　“The　cow　and　the　calf；”　she　said　quickly。　“They’re　in　the　old　pasture。　Take　the　horse　and　drive　them　into　the　swamp　and—”
　Before　she　could　finish　her　sentence；　Melanie　shook　off　Wade’s　clutches　and　was　down　the　front　steps　and　running　toward　the　horse；　pulling　up　her　wide　skirts　as　she　ran。　Scarlett　caught　a　flashing　glimpse　of　thin　legs；　a　flurry　of　skirts　and　underclothing　and　Melanie　was　in　the　saddle；　her　feet　dangling　far　above　the　stirrups。　She　gathered　up　the　reins　and　clapped　her　heels　against　the　animal’s　sides　and　then　abruptly　pulled　him　in；　her　face　twisting　with　horror。
　“My　baby！”　she　cried。　“Oh；　my　baby！　The　Yankees　will　kill　him！　Give　him　to　me！”
　Her　hand　was　on　the　pommel　and　she　was　preparing　to　slide　off　but　Scarlett　screamed　at　her。
　“Go　on！　Go　on！　Get　the　cow！　I’ll　look　after　the　baby！　Go　on；　I　tell　you！　Do　you　think　I’d　let　them　get　Ashley’s　baby？　Go　on！”
　Melly　looked　despairingly　backward　but　hammered　her　heels　into　the　horse　and；　with　a　scattering　of　gravel；　was　off　down　the　drive　toward　the　pasture。
　Scarlett　thought：　“I　never　expected　to　see　Melly　Hamilton　straddling　a　horse！”　and　then　she　ran　into　the　house。　Wade　was　at　her　heels；　sobbing；　trying　to　catch　her　flying　skirts。　As　she　went　up　the　steps；　three　at　a　bound；　she　saw　Suellen　and　Carreen　with　split…oak　baskets　on　their　arms；　running　toward　the　pantry；　and　Pork　tugging　none　too　gently　at　Gerald’s　arm；　dragging　him　toward　the　back　porch。　Gerald　was　mumbling　querulously　and　pulling　away　like　a　child。
　From　the　back　yard　she　heard　Mammy’s　strident　voice：　“You；　Priss！　You　git　unner　dat　house　an’　han’　me　dem　shoats！　You　knows　mighty　well　Ah’s　too　big　ter　crawl　thoo　dem　lattices。　Dilcey；　comyere　an’　mek　dis　wuthless　chile—”
　“And　I　thought　it　was　such　a　good　idea　to　keep　the　pigs　under　the　house；　so　nobody　could　steal　them；”　thought　Scarlett；　running　into　her　room。　“Why；　oh；　why　didn’t　I　build　a　pen　for　them　down　in　the　swamp？”
　She　tore　open　her　top　bureau　drawer　and　scratched　about　in　the　clothing　until　the　Yankee’s　wallet　was　in　her　hand。　Hastily　she　picked　up　the　solitaire　ring　and　the　diamond　earbobs　from　where　she　had　hidden　them　in　her　sewing　basket　and　shoved　them　into　the　wallet。　But　where　to　hide　it？　In　the　mattress？　Up　the　chimney？　Throw　it　in　the　well？　Put　it　in　her　bosom？　No；　never　there！　The　outlines　of　the　wallet　might　show　through　her　basque　and　if　the　Yankees　saw　it　they　would　strip　her　naked　and　search　her。
　“I　shall　die　if　they　do！”　she　thought　wildly。
　Downstairs　there　was　a　pandemonium　of　racing　feet　and　sobbing　voices。　Even　in　her　frenzy；　Scarlett　wished　she　had　Melanie　with　her；　Melly　with　her　quiet　voice；　Melly　who　was　so　brave　the　day　she　shot　the　Yankee。　Melly　was　worth　three　of　the　others。　Melly—what　had　Melly　said？　Oh；　yes；　the　baby！
　Clutching　the　wallet　to　her；　Scarlett　ran　across　the　hall　to　the　room　where　little　Beau　was　sleeping　in　the　low　cradle。　She　snatched　him　up　into　her　arms　and　he　awoke；　waving　small　fists　and　slobbering　sleepily。
　She　heard　Suellen　crying：　“Come　on；　Carreen！　Come　on！　We’ve　got　enough。　Oh；　Sister；　hurry！”　There　were　wild　squealings；　indignant　gruntings　in　the　back　yard　and；　running　to　the　window；　Scarlett　saw　Mammy　waddling　hurriedly　across　the　cotton　field　with　a　struggling　young　pig　under　each　arm。　Behind　her　was　Pork　also　carrying　two　pigs　and　pushing　Gerald　before　him。　Gerald　was　stumping　across　the　furrows；　waving　his　cane。
　Leaning　out　of　the　window　Scarlett　yelled：　“Get　the　sow；　Dilcey！　Make　Prissy　drive　her　out　You　can　chase　her　across　the　fields！”
　Dilcey　looked　up；　her　bronzed　face　harassed。　In　her　apron　was　a　pile　of　silver　tableware。　She　pointed　under　the　house。
　“The　sow　done　bit　Prissy　and　got　her　penned　up　unner　the　house。”
　“Good　for　the　sow；”　thought　Scarlett。　She　hurried　back　into　her　room　and　hastily　gathered　from　their　hiding　place　the　bracelets；　brooch；　miniature　and　cup　she　had　found　on　the　dead　Yankee。　But　where　to　hide　them？　It　was　awkward；　carrying　little　Beau　in　one　arm　and　the　wallet　and　the　trinkets　in　the　other。　She　started　to　lay　him　on　the　bed。
　He　set　up　a　wail　at　leaving　her　arms　and　a　welcome　thought　came　to　her。　What　better　hiding　place　could　there　be　than　a　baby’s　diaper？　She　quickly　turned　him　over；　pulled　up　his　dress　and　thrust　the　wallet　down　the　diaper　next　to　his　backside。　He　yelled　louder　at　this　treatment　and　she　hastily　tightened　the　triangular　garment　about　his　threshing　legs。
　“Now；”　she　thought；　drawing　a　deep　breath；　“now　for　the　swamp！”
　Tucking　him　screaming　under　one　arm　and　clutching　the　jewelry　to　her　with　the　other；　she　raced　into　the　upstairs　hall。　Suddenly　her　rapid　steps　paused；　fright　weakening　her　knees。　How　silent　the　house　was！　How　dreadfully　still！　Had　they　all　gone　off　and　left　her？　Hadn’t　anyone　waited　for　her？　She　hadn’t　meant　for　them　to　leave　her　here　alone。　These　days　anything　could　happen　to　a　lone　woman　and　with　the　Yankees　coming—
　She　jumped　as　a　slight　noise　sounded　and；　turning　quickly；　saw　crouched　by　the　banisters　her　forgotten　son；　his　eyes　enormous　with　terror。　He　tried　to　speak　but　his　throat　only　worked　silently。
　“Get　up；　Wade　Hampton；”　she　commanded　swiftly。　“Get　up　and　walk。　Mother　can’t　carry　you　now。”
　He　ran　to　her；　like　a　small　frightened　animal；　and　clutching　her　wide　skirt；　buried　his　face　in　it。　She　could　feel　his　small　hands　groping　through　the　folds　for　her　legs。　She　started　down　the　stairs；　each　step　hampered　by　Wade’s　dragging　hands　and　she　said　fiercely：　“Turn　me　loose；　Wade！　Turn　me　loose　and　walk！”　But　the　child　only　clung　the　closer。
　As　she　reached　the　landing；　the　whole　lower　floor　leaped　up　at　her。　All　the　homely；　well…loved　articles　of　furniture　seemed　to　whisper：　“Good…by！　Good…by！”　A　sob　rose　in　her　throat。　There　was　the　open　door　of　the　office　where　Ellen　had　labored　so　diligently　and　she　could　glimpse　a　corner　of　the　old　secretary。　There　was　the　dining　room；　with　chairs　pushed　awry　and　food　still　on　the　plates。　There　on　the　floor　were　the　rag　rugs　Ellen　had　dyed　and　woven　herself。　And　there　was　the　old　portrait　of　Grandma　Robillard；　with　bosoms　half　bared；　hair　piled　high　and　nostrils　cut　so　deeply　as　to　give　her　face　a　perpetual　well…bred　sneer。　Everything　which　had　been　part　of　her　earliest　memories；　everything　bound　up　with　the　deepest　roots　in　her：　“Good…by！　Good…by；　Scarlett　O’Hara！”
　The　Yankees　would　burn　it　all—all！
　This　was　her　last　view　of　home；　her　last　view　except　what　she　might　see　from　the　cover　of　the　woods　or　the　swamp；　the　tall　chimneys　wrapped　in　smoke；　the　roof　crashing　in　flame。
　“I　can’t　leave