飘

ite　folks　and　worked　much　harder　than　they　ever　worked　in　slave　times。　But　the　Yankees　didn’t　understand　these　things　and　would　never　understand　them。
　“Yet　they　set　you　free；”　she　said　aloud。
　“No；　Ma’m！　Dey　din’　sot　me　free。　Ah　wouldn’　let　no　sech　trash　sot　me　free；”　said　Peter　indignantly。　“Ah　still　b’longs　ter　Miss　Pitty　an’　w’en　Ah　dies　she　gwine　lay　me　in　de　Hamilton　buhyin’　groun’　whar　Ah　b’longs。　。。。　Mah　Miss　gwine　ter　be　in　a　state　w’en　Ah　tells　her　‘bout　how　you　let　dem　Yankee　women　‘sult　me。”
　“I　did　no　such　thing！”　cried　Scarlett；　startled。
　“You　did　so；　Miss　Scarlett；”　said　Peter；　pushing　out　his　lip　even　farther。　“De　pint　is；　needer　you　nor　me　had　no　bizness　bein’　wid　Yankees；　so　dey　could　‘sult　me。　Ef　you　hadn’t　talked　wid　dem；　dey　wouldn’　had　no　chance　ter　treat　me　lak　a　mule　or　a　Affikun。　An’　you　din’　tek　up　fer　me；　needer。”
　“I　did；　too！”　said　Scarlett；　stung　by　the　criticism。　“Didn’t　I　tell　them　you　were　one　of　the　family？”
　“Dat　ain’　tekkin’　up。　Dat’s　jes’　a　fac’；”　said　Peter。　“Miss　Scarlett；　you　ain’　got　no　bizness　havin’　no　truck　wid　Yankees。　Ain’　no　other　ladies　doin’　it。　You　wouldn’　ketch　Miss　Pitty　wipin’　her　lil　shoes　on　sech　trash。　An’　she　ain’　gwine　lake　it　w’en　she　hear　‘bout　whut　dey　said　‘bout　me。”
　Peter’s　criticism　hurt　worse　than　anything　Frank　or　Aunt　Pitty　or　the　neighbors　had　said　and　it　so　annoyed　her　she　longed　to　shake　the　old　darky　until　his　toothless　gums　clapped　together。　What　Peter　said　was　true　but　she　hated　to　hear　it　from　a　negro　and　a　family　negro；　too。　Not　to　stand　high　in　the　opinion　of　one’s　servants　was　as　humiliating　a　thing　as　could　happen　to　a　Southerner。
　“A　ole　pet！”　Peter　grumbled。　“Ah　specs　Miss　Pitty　ain’t　gwine　want　me　ter　drive　you　roun’　no　mo’　after　dat。　No；　Ma’m！”
　“Aunt　Pitty　will　want　you　to　drive　me　as　usual；”　she　said　sternly；　“so　let’s　hear　no　more　about　it。”
　“Ah’ll　git　a　mizry　in　mah　back；”　warned　Peter　darkly。　“Mah　back　huttin’　me　so　bad　dis　minute　Ah　kain　sceercely　set　up。　Mah　Miss　ain’　gwine　want　me　ter　do　no　drivin’　w’en　Ah　got　a　mizry。　。。。　Miss　Scarlett；　it　ain’　gwine　do　you　no　good　ter　stan’　high　wid　de　Yankees　an’　de　w’ite　trash；　ef　yo’　own　folks　doan　‘prove　of　you。”
　That　was　as　accurate　a　summing　up　of　the　situation　as　could　be　made　and　Scarlett　relapsed　into　infuriated　silence。　Yes；　the　conquerors　did　approve　of　her　and　her　family　and　her　neighbors　did　not。　She　knew　all　the　things　the　town　was　saying　about　her。　And　now　even　Peter　disapproved　of　her　to　the　point　of　not　caring　to　be　seen　in　public　with　her。　That　was　the　last　straw。
　Heretofore　she　had　been　careless　of　public　opinion；　careless　and　a　little　contemptuous。　But　Peter’s　words　caused　fierce　resentment　to　burn　in　her　breast；　drove　her　to　a　defensive　position；　made　her　suddenly　dislike　her　neighbors　as　much　as　she　disliked　the　Yankees。
　“Why　should　they　care　what　I　do？”　she　thought。　“They　must　think　I　enjoy　associating　with　Yankees　and　working　like　a　field　hand。　They’re　just　making　a　hard　job　harder　for　me。　But　I　don’t　care　what　they　think。　I　won’t　let　myself　care。　I　can’t　afford　to　care　now。　But　some　day—some　day—”
　Oh　some　day！　When　there　was　security　in　her　world　again；　then　she　would　sit　back　and　fold　her　hands　and　be　a　great　lady　as　Ellen　had　been。　She　would　be　helpless　and　sheltered；　as　a　lady　should　be；　and　then　everyone　would　approve　of　her。　Oh；　how　grand　she　would　be　when　she　had　money　again！　Then　she　could　permit　herself　to　be　kind　and　gentle；　as　Ellen　had　been；　and　thoughtful　of　other　people　and　of　the　proprieties；　too。　She　would　not　be　driven　by　fears；　day　and　night；　and　life　would　be　a　placid；　unhurried　affair。　She　would　have　time　to　play　with　her　children　and　listen　to　their　lessons。　There　would　be　long　warm　afternoons　when　ladies　would　call　and；　amid　the　rustlings　of　taffeta　petticoats　and　the　rhythmic　harsh　cracklings　of　palmetto　fans；　she　would　serve　tea　and　delicious　sandwiches　and　cakes　and　leisurely　gossip　the　hours　away。　And　she　would　be　so　kind　to　those　who　were　suffering　misfortune；　take　baskets　to　the　poor　and　soup　and　jelly　to　the　sick　and　“air”　those　less　fortunate　in　her　fine　carriage。　She　would　be　a　lady　in　the　true　Southern　manner；　as　her　mother　had　been。　And　then；　everyone　would　love　her　as　they　had　loved　Ellen　and　they　would　say　how　unselfish　she　was　and　call　her　“Lady　Bountiful。”
　Her　pleasure　in　these　thoughts　of　the　future　was　un…dimmed　by　any　realization　that　she　had　no　real　desire　to　be　unselfish　or　charitable　or　kind。　All　she　wanted　was　the　reputation　for　possessing　these　qualities。　But　the　meshes　of　her　brain　were　too　wide；　too　coarse；　to　filter　such　small　differences。　It　was　enough　that　some　day；　when　she　had　money；　everyone　would　approve　of　her。
　Some　day！　But　not　now。　Not　now；　in　spite　of　what　anyone　might　say　of　her。　Now；　there　was　no　time　to　be　a　great　lady。
　Peter　was　as　good　as　his　word。　Aunt　Pitty　did　get　into　a　state；　and　Peter’s　misery　developed　overnight　to　such　proportions　that　he　never　drove　the　buggy　again。　Thereafter　Scarlett　drove　alone　and　the　calluses　which　had　begun　to　leave　her　palms　came　back　again。
　So　the　spring　months　went　by；　the　cool　rains　of　April　passing　into　the　warm　balm　of　green　May　weather。　The　weeks　were　packed　with　work　and　worry　and　the　handicaps　of　increasing　pregnancy；　with　old　friends　growing　cooler　and　her　family　increasingly　more　kind；　more　maddeningly　solicitous　and　more　completely　blind　to　what　was　driving　her。　During　those　days　of　anxiety　and　struggle　there　was　only　one　dependable；　understanding　person　in　her　world；　and　that　person　was　Rhett　Butler。　It　was　odd　that　he　of　all　people　should　appear　in　this　light；　for　he　was　as　unstable　as　quicksilver　and　as　perverse　as　a　demon　fresh　from　the　pit。　But　he　gave　her　sympathy；　something　she　had　never　had　from　anyone　and　never　expected　from　him。
　Frequently　he　was　out　of　town　on　those　mysterious　trips　to　New　Orleans　which　he　never　explained　but　which　she　felt　sure；　in　a　faintly　jealous　way；　were　connected　with　a　woman—or　women。　But　after　Uncle　Peter’s　refusal　to　drive　her；　he　remained　in　Atlanta　for　longer　and　longer　intervals。
　While　in　town；　he　spent　most　of　his　time　gambling　in　the　rooms　above　the　Girl　of　the　Period　Saloon；　or　in　Belle　Watling’s　bar　hobnobbing　with　the　wealthier　of　the　Yankees　and　Carpetbaggers　in　money…making　schemes　which　made　the　townspeople　detest　him　even　more　than　his　cronies。　He　did　not　call　at　the　house　now；　probably　in　deference　to　the　feelings　of　Frank　and　Pitty　who　would　have　been　outraged　at　a　male　caller　while　Scarlett　was　in　a　delicate　condition。　But　she　met　him　by　accident　almost　every　day。　Time　and　again；　he　came　riding　up　to　her　buggy　when　she　was　passing　through　lonely　stretches　of　Peachtree　road　and　Decatur　road　where　the　mills　lay。　He　always　drew　rein　and　talked　and　sometimes　he　tied　his　horse　to　the　back　of　the　buggy　and　drove　her　on　her　rounds。　She　tired　more　easily　these　days　than　she　liked　to　admit　and　she　was　always　silently　grateful　when　he　took　the　reins。　He　always　left　her　before　they　reached　the　town　again　but　all　Atlanta　knew　about　their　meetings；　and　it　gave　the　gossips　something　new　to　add　to　the　long　list　of　Scarlett’s　affronts　to　the　proprieties。
　She　wondered　occasionally　if　these　meetings　were　not　more　than　accidental。　They　became　more　and　more　numerous　as　the　weeks　went　by　and　as　the　tension　in　town　heightened　over　negro　outrages。　But　why　did　he　seek　her　out；　now　of　all　times　when　she　looked　her　worst？　Certainly　he　had　no　designs　upon　her　if　he　had　ever　had　any；　and　she　was　beginning　to　doubt　even　this。　It　had　been　months　since　he　made　any　joking　references　to　their　distressing　scene　at　the　Yankee　jail。　He　never　mentioned　Ashley　and　her　love　for　him；　or　made　any　coarse　and　ill…bred　remarks　about　“coveting　her。”　She　thought　it　best　to　let　sleeping　dogs　lie；　so　she　did　not　ask　for　an　explanation　of　their　frequent　meetings。　And　finally　she　decided　that；　because　he　had　little　to　do　besides　gamble　and　had　few　enough　nice　friends　in　Atlanta；　he　sought　her　out　solely　for　companionship’s　sake。
　Whatever　his　reason　might　be；　she　found　his　company　most　welcome。　He　listened　to　her　moans　about　lost　customers　and　bad　debts；　the　swindling　ways　of　Mr。　Johnson　and　the　incompetency　of　Hugh。　He　applauded　her　triumphs；　where　Frank　merely　smiled　indulgently　and　Pitty　said　“Dear　me！”　in　a　dazed　manner。　She　was　sure　that　rich　Yankees　and　Carpetbaggers　intimately；　but　he　always　denied　being　helpful。　She　knew　him　for　what　he　was　and　she　never　trusted　him；　but　her　spirits　always　rose　with　pleasure　at　the　sight　of　him　riding　around　the　curve　of　a　shady　road　on　his　big　black　horse。　When　he　climbed　into　the　buggy　and　took　the　reins　from　her　and　threw　her　some　impertinent　remark；　she　felt　young　and　gay　and　attractive　again；　for　an　her　worries　and　her　increasing　bulk。　She　could　talk　to　him　about　almost　everything；　with　no　care　for　concealing　her　motives　or　her　real　opinions　and　she　never　ran　out　of　things　to　say　as　she　did　with　Frank—or　even　with　Ashley；　if　she　must　be　honest　with　herself。　But　of　course；　in　all　her　conversations　with　Ashley　there　were　so　many　things　which　could　not　be　said；　for　honor’s