飘

　the　front　porch　every　time　they　heard　footsteps。　The　sight　of　a　uniform　was　enough　to　bring　everyone　flying　from　the　woodpile；　the　pasture　and　the　cotton　patch。　For　a　month　after　the　letter　came；　work　was　almost　at　a　standstill。　No　one　wanted　to　be　out　of　the　house　when　he　arrived。　Scarlett　least　of　all。　And　she　could　not　insist　on　the　others　attending　to　their　duties　when　she　so　neglected　hers。
　But　when　the　weeks　crawled　by　and　Ashley　did　not　come　or　any　news　of　him；　Tara　settled　back　into　its　old　routine。　Longing　hearts　could　only　stand　so　much　of　longing。　An　uneasy　fear　crept　into　Scarlett’s　mind　that　something　had　happened　to　him　along　the　way。　Rock　Island　was　so　far　away　and　he　might　have　been　weak　or　sick　when　released　from　prison。　And　he　had　no　money　and　was　tramping　through　a　country　where　Confederates　were　hated。　If　only　she　knew　where　he　was；　she　would　send　money　to　him；　send　every　penny　she　had　and　let　the　family　go　hungry；　so　he　could　come　home　swiftly　on　the　train。
　“Beloved；　I　am　coming　home　to　you。”
　In　the　first　rush　of　joy　when　her　eyes　met　those　words；　they　had　meant　only　that　Ashley　was　coming　home　to　her。　Now；　in　the　light　of　cooler　reason；　it　was　Melanie　to　whom　he　was　returning；　Melanie　who　went　about　the　house　these　days　singing　with　joy。　Occasionally；　Scarlett　wondered　bitterly　why　Melanie　could　not　have　died　in　childbirth　in　Atlanta。　That　would　have　made　things　perfect。　Then　she　could　have　married　Ashley　after　a　decent　interval　and　made　little　Beau　a　good　stepmother　too。　When　such　thoughts　came　she　did　not　pray　hastily　to　God；　telling　Him　she　did　not　mean　it。　God　did　not　frighten　her　any　more。
　Soldiers　came　singly　and　in　pairs　and　dozens　and　they　were　always　hungry。　Scarlett　thought　despairingly　that　a　plague　of　locusts　would　be　more　welcome。　She　cursed　again　the　old　custom　of　hospitality　which　had　flowered　in　the　era　of　plenty；　the　custom　which　would　not　permit　any　traveler；　great　or　humble；　to　go　on　his　journey　without　a　night’s　lodging；　food　for　himself　and　his　horse　and　the　utmost　courtesy　the　house　could　give。　She　knew　that　era　had　passed　forever；　but　the　rest　of　the　household　did　not；　nor　did　the　soldiers；　and　each　soldier　was　welcomed　as　if　he　were　a　long…awaited　guest。
　As　the　never…ending　line　went　by；　her　heart　hardened。　They　were　eating　the　food　meant　for　the　mouths　of　Tara；　vegetables　over　whose　long　rows　she　had　wearied　her　back；　food　she　had　driven　endless　miles　to　buy。　Food　was　so　hard　to　get　and　the　money　in　the　Yankee’s　wallet　would　not　last　forever。　Only　a　few　greenbacks　and　the　two　gold　pieces　were　left　now。　Why　should　she　feed　this　horde　of　hungry　men？　The　war　was　over。　They　would　never　again　stand　between　her　and　danger。　So；　she　gave　orders　to　Pork　that　when　soldiers　were　in　the　house；　the　table　should　be　set　sparely。　This　order　prevailed　until　she　noticed　that　Melanie；　who　had　never　been　strong　since　Beau　was　born；　was　inducing　Pork　to　put　only　dabs　of　food　on　her　plate　and　giving　her　share　to　the　soldiers。
　“You’ll　have　to　stop　it；　Melanie；”　she　scolded。　“You’re　half　sick　yourself　and　if　you　don’t　eat　more；　you’ll　be　sick　in　bed　and　we’ll　have　to　nurse　you。　Let　these　men　go　hungry。　They　can　stand　it。　They’ve　stood　it　for　four　years　and　it　won’t　hurt　them　to　stand　it　a　little　while　longer。”
　Melanie　turned　to　her　and　on　her　face　was　the　first　expression　of　naked　emotion　Scarlett　had　ever　seen　in　those　serene　eyes。
　“Oh；　Scarlett；　don’t　scold　me！　Let　me　do　it。　You　don’t　know　how　it　helps　me。　Every　time　I　give　some　poor　man　my　share　I　think　that　maybe；　somewhere　on　the　road　up　north；　some　woman　is　giving　my　Ashley　a　share　of　her　dinner　and　it’s　helping　him　to　get　home　to　me！”
　“My　Ashley。”
　“Beloved；　I　am　coming　home　to　you。”
　Scarlett　turned　away；　wordless。　After　that；　Melanie　noticed　there　was　more　food　on　the　table　when　guests　were　present；　even　though　Scarlett　might　grudge　them　every　mouthful。
　When　the　soldiers　were　too　ill　to　go　on；　and　there　were　many　such；　Scarlett　put　them　to　bed　with　none　too　good　grace。　Each　sick　man　meant　another　mouth　to　feed。　Someone　had　to　nurse　him　and　that　meant　one　less　worker　at　the　business　of　fence　building；　hoeing；　weeding　and　plowing。　One　boy；　on　whose　face　a　blond　fuzz　had　just　begun　to　sprout；　was　dumped　on　the　front　porch　by　a　mounted　soldier　bound　for　Fayetteville。　He　had　found　him　unconscious　by　the　roadside　and　had　brought　him；　across　his　saddle；　to　Tara；　the　nearest　house。　The　girls　thought　he　must　be　one　of　the　little　cadets　who　had　been　called　out　of　military　school　when　Sherman　approached　Milledgeville　but　they　never　knew；　for　he　died　without　regaining　consciousness　and　a　search　of　his　pockets　yielded　no　information。
　A　nice…looking　boy；　obviously　a　gentleman；　and　somewhere　to　the　south；　some　woman　was　watching　the　roads；　wondering　where　he　was　and　when　he　was　coming　home；　just　as　she　and　Melanie；　with　a　wild　hope　in　their　hearts；　watched　every　bearded　figure　that　came　up　their　walk。　They　buried　the　cadet　in　the　family　burying　ground；　next　to　the　three　little　O’Hara　boys；　and　Melanie　cried　sharply　as　Pork　filled　in　the　grave；　wondering　in　her　heart　if　strangers　were　doing　this　same　thing　to　the　tall　body　of　Ashley。
　Will　Benteen　was　another　soldier；　like　the　nameless　boy；　who　arrived　unconscious　across　the　saddle　of　a　comrade。　Will　was　acutely　ill　with　pneumonia　and　when　the　girls　put　him　to　bed；　they　feared　he　would　soon　join　the　boy　in　the　burying　ground。
　He　had　the　sallow　malarial　face　of　the　south　Georgia　Cracker；　pale　pinkish　hair　and　washed…out　blue　eyes　which　even　in　delirium　were　patient　and　mild。　One　of　his　legs　was　gone　at　the　knee　and　to　the　stump　was　fitted　a　roughly　whittled　wooden　peg。　He　was　obviously　a　Cracker；　just　as　the　boy　they　had　buried　so　short　a　while　ago　was　obviously　a　planter’s　son。　Just　how　the　girls　knew　this　they　could　not　say。　Certainly　Will　was　no　dirtier；　no　more　hairy；　no　more　lice　infested　than　many　fine　gentlemen　who　came　to　Tara。　Certainly　the　language　he　used　in　his　delirium　was　no　less　grammatical　than　that　of　the　Tarleton　twins。　But　they　knew　instinctively；　as　they　knew　thoroughbred　horses　from　scrubs；　that　he　was　not　of　their　class。　But　this　knowledge　did　not　keep　them　from　laboring　to　save　him。
　Emaciated　from　a　year　in　a　Yankee　prison；　exhausted　by　his　long　tramp　on　his　ill…fitting　wooden　peg；　he　had　little　strength　to　combat　pneumonia　and　for　days　he　lay　in　the　bed　moaning；　trying　to　get　up；　fighting　battles　over　again。　Never　once　did　he　call　for　mother；　wife；　sister　or　sweetheart　and　this　omission　worried　Carreen。
　“A　man　ought　to　have　some　folks；”　she　said。　“And　he　sounds　like　he　didn’t　have　a　soul　in　the　world。”
　For　all　his　lankiness　he　was　tough；　and　good　nursing　pulled　him　through。　The　day　came　when　his　pale　blue　eyes；　perfectly　cognizant　of　his　surroundings；　fell　upon　Carreen　sitting　beside　him；　telling　her　rosary　beads；　the　morning　sun　shining　through　her　fair　hair。
　“Then　you　warn’t　a　dream；　after　all；”　he　said；　in　his　flat　toneless　voice。　“I　hope　I　ain’t　troubled　you　too　much；　Ma’m。”
　His　convalescence　was　a　long　one　and　he　lay　quietly　looking　out　of　the　window　at　the　magnolias　and　causing　very　little　trouble　to　anyone。　Carreen　liked　him　because　of　his　placid　and　unembarrassed　silences。　She　would　sit　beside　him　through　the　long　hot　afternoons；　fanning　him　and　saying　nothing。
　Carreen　had　very　little　to　say　these　days　as　she　moved；　delicate　and　wraithlike；　about　the　tasks　which　were　within　her　strength。　She　prayed　a　good　deal；　for　when　Scarlett　came　into　her　room　without　knocking；　she　always　found　her　on　her　knees　by　her　bed。　The　sight　never　failed　to　annoy　her；　for　Scarlett　felt　that　the　time　for　prayer　had　passed。　If　God　had　seen　fit　to　punish　them　so；　then　God　could　very　well　do　without　prayers。　Religion　had　always　been　a　bargaining　process　with　Scarlett。　She　promised　God　good　behavior　in　exchange　for　favors。　God　had　broken　the　bargain　time　and　again；　to　her　way　of　thinking；　and　she　felt　that　she　owed　Him　nothing　at　all　now。　And　whenever　she　found　Carreen　on　her　knees　when　she　should　have　been　taking　an　afternoon　nap　or　doing　the　mending；　she　felt　that　Carreen　was　shirking　her　share　of　the　burdens。
　She　said　as　much　to　Will　Benteen　one　afternoon　when　he　was　able　to　sit　up　in　a　chair　and　was　startled　when　he　said　in　his　flat　voice：　“Let　her　be；　Miss　Scarlett。　It　comforts　her。”
　“Comforts　her？”
　“Yes；　she’s　prayin’　for　your　ma　and　him。”
　“Who　is　‘him’？”
　His　faded　blue　eyes　looked　at　her　from　under　sandy　lashes　without　surprise。　Nothing　seemed　to　surprise　or　excite　him。　Perhaps　he　had　seen　too　much　of　the　unexpected　ever　to　be　startled　again。　That　Scarlett　did　not　know　what　was　in　her　sister’s　heart　did　not　seem　odd　to　him。　He　took　it　as　naturally　as　he　did　the　fact　that　Carreen　had　found　comfort　in　talking　to　him；　a　stranger。
　“Her　beau；　that　boy　Brent　something…or…other　who　was　killed　at　Gettysburg。”
　“Her　beau？”　said　Scarlett　shortly。　“Her　beau；　nothing！　He　and　his　brother　were　my　beaux。”
　“Yes；　so　she　told　me。　Looks　like　most　of　the　County　was　your　beaux。　But；　all　the　same；　he　was　her　beau　after　you　turned　him　down；　because　when　he　come　home　on　his　last　furlough　they　go