飘

　The　girls’　faces　turned　to　her；　startled　and　questioning；　and　Gerald　wagged　his　head　philosophically。
　“Well；　‘tis　better　so　that　the　brat　is　dead；　no　doubt；　poor　fatherle—”
　“It　is　late。　We　had　better　have　prayers　now；”　interrupted　Ellen　so　smoothly　that；　if　Scarlett　had　not　known　her　mother　well；　the　interruption　would　have　passed　unnoticed。
　It　would　be　interesting　to　know　who　was　the　father　of　Emmie　Slattery’s　baby；　but　Scarlett　knew　she　would　never　learn　the　truth　of　the　matter　if　she　waited　to　hear　it　from　her　mother。　Scarlett　suspected　Jonas　Wilkerson；　for　she　had　frequently　seen　him　walking　down　the　road　with　Emmie　at　nightfall。　Jonas　was　a　Yankee　and　a　bachelor；　and　the　fact　that　he　was　an　overseer　forever　barred　him　from　any　contact　with　the　County　social　life。　There　was　no　family　of　any　standing　into　which　he　could　marry；　no　people　with　whom　he　could　associate　except　the　Slatterys　and　riffraff　like　them。　As　he　was　several　cuts　above　the　Slatterys　in　education；　it　was　only　natural　that　he　should　not　want　to　marry　Emmie；　no　matter　how　often　he　might　walk　with　her　in　the　twilight。
　Scarlett　sighed；　for　her　curiosity　was　sharp。　Things　were　always　happening　under　her　mother’s　eyes　which　she　noticed　no　more　than　if　they　had　not　happened　at　all。　Ellen　ignored　all　things　contrary　to　her　ideas　of　propriety　and　tried　to　teach　Scarlett　to　do　the　same；　but　with　poor　success。
　Ellen　had　stepped　to　the　mantel　to　take　her　rosary　beads　from　the　small　inlaid　casket　in　which　they　always　reposed　when　Mammy　spoke　up　with　firmness。
　“Miss　Ellen；　you　gwine　eat　some　supper　befo’　you　does　any　prayin’。”
　“Thank　you。　Mammy；　but　I　am　not　hungry。”
　“Ah　gwine　fix　yo’　supper　mahseff　an’　you　eats　it；”　said　Mammy；　her　brow　furrowed　with　indignation　as　she　started　down　the　hall　for　the　kitchen。　“Poke！”　she　called；　“tell　Cookie　stir　up　de　fiah。　Miss　Ellen　home。”
　As　the　boards　shuddered　under　her　weight；　the　soliloquy　she　had　been　muttering　in　the　front　hall　grew　louder　and　louder；　coming　clearly　to　the　ears　of　the　family　in　the　dining　room。
　“Ah　has　said　time　an’　again；　it　doan　do　no　good　doin’　nuthin’　fer　w’ite　trash。　Dey　is　de　shiflesses；　mos’　ungrateful　passel　of　no…counts　livin’。　An’　Miss　Ellen　got　no　bizness　weahin’　herseff　out　waitin’　on　folks　dat　did　dey　be　wuth　shootin’　dey’d　have　niggers　ter　wait　on　dem。　An’　Ah　has　said—”
　Her　voice　trailed　off　as　she　went　down　the　long　open　passageway；　covered　only　by　a　roof；　that　led　into　the　kitchen。　Mammy　had　her　own　method　of　letting　her　owners　know　exactly　where　she　stood　on　all　matters。　She　knew　it　was　beneath　the　dignity　of　quality　white　folks　to　pay　the　slightest　attention　to　what　a　darky　said　when　she　was　just　grumbling　to　herself。　She　knew　that　to　uphold　this　dignity；　they　must　ignore　what　she　said；　even　if　she　stood　in　the　next　room　and　almost　shouted。　It　protected　her　from　reproof；　and　it　left　no　doubt　in　anyone’s　mind　as　to　her　exact　views　on　any　subject。
　Pork　entered　the　room；　bearing　a　plate；　silver　and　a　napkin。　He　was　followed　closely　by　Jack；　a　black　little　boy　of　ten；　hastily　buttoning　a　white　linen　jacket　with　one　hand　and　bearing　in　the　other　a　fly…swisher；　made　of　thin　strips　of　newspaper　tied　to　a　reed　longer　than　he　was。　Ellen　had　a　beautiful　peacock…feather　fly…brusher；　but　it　was　used　only　on　very　special　occasions　and　then　only　after　domestic　struggle；　due　to　the　obstinate　conviction　of　Pork；　Cookie　and　Mammy　that　peacock　feathers　were　bad　luck。
　Ellen　sat　down　in　the　chair　which　Gerald　pulled　out　for　her　and　four　voices　attacked　her。
　“Mother；　the　lace　is　loose　on　my　new　ball　dress　and　I　want　to　wear　it　tomorrow　night　at　Twelve　Oaks。　Won’t　you　please　fix　it？”
　“Mother；　Scarlett’s　new　dress　is　prettier　than　mine　and　I　look　like　a　fright　in　pink。　Why　can’t　she　wear　my　pink　and　let　me　wear　her　green？　She　looks　all　right　in　pink。”
　“Mother；　can　I　stay　up　for　the　ball　tomorrow　night？　I’m　thirteen　now—”
　“Mrs。　O’Hara；　would　you　believe　it—　Hush；　you　girls；　before　I　take　me　crop　to　you！　Cade　Calvert　was　in　Atlanta　this　morning　and　he　says—will　you　be　quiet　and　let　me　be　hearing　me　own　voice？—and　he　says　it’s　all　upset　they　are　there　and　talking　nothing　but　war；　militia　drilling；　troops　forming。　And　he　says　the　news　from　Charleston　is　that　they　will　be　putting　up　with　no　more　Yankee　insults。”
　Ellen’s　tired　mouth　smiled　into　the　tumult　as　she　addressed　herself　first　to　her　husband；　as　a　wife　should。
　“If　the　nice　people　of　Charleston　feel　that　way；　I’m　sure　we　will　all　feel　the　same　way　soon；”　she　said；　for　she　had　a　deeply　rooted　belief　that；　excepting　only　Savannah；　most　of　the　gentle　blood　of　the　whole　continent　could　be　found　in　that　small　seaport　city；　a　belief　shared　largely　by　Charlestonians。
　“No；　Carreen；　next　year；　dear。　Then　you　can　stay　up　for　balls　and　wear　grown…up　dresses；　and　what　a　good　time　my　little　pink　cheeks　will　have！　Don’t　pout；　dear。　You　can　go　to　the　barbecue；　remember　that；　and　stay　up　through　supper；　but　no　balls　until　you　are　fourteen。”
　“Give　me　your　gown；　Scarlett；　I　will　whip　the　lace　for　you　after　prayers。
　“Suellen；　I　do　not　like　your　tone；　dear。　Your　pink　gown　is　lovely　and　suitable　to　your　complexion；　Scarlett’s　is　to　hers。　But　you　may　wear　my　garnet　necklace　tomorrow　night。”
　Suellen；　behind　her　mother’s　back；　wrinkled　her　nose　triumphantly　at　Scarlett　who　had　been　planning　to　beg　the　necklace　for　herself。　Scarlett　put　out　her　tongue　at　her。　Suellen　was　an　annoying　sister　with　her　whining　and　selfishness；　and　had　it　not　been　for　Ellen’s　restraining　hand；　Scarlett　would　frequently　have　boxed　her　ears。
　“Now；　Mr。　O’Hara；　tell　me　more　about　what　Mr。　Calvert　said　about　Charleston；”　said　Ellen。
　Scarlett　knew　her　mother　cared　nothing　at　all　about　war　and　politics　and　thought　them　masculine　matters　about　which　no　lady　could　intelligently　concern　herself。　But　it　gave　Gerald　pleasure　to　air　his　views；　and　Ellen　was　unfailingly　thoughtful　of　her　husband’s　pleasure。
　While　Gerald　launched　forth　on　his　news。　Mammy　set　the　plates　before　her　mistress；　golden…topped　biscuits；　breast　of　fried　chicken　and　a　yellow　yam　open　and　steaming；　with　melted　butter　dripping　from　it。　Mammy　pinched　small　Jack；　and　he　hastened　to　his　business　of　slowly　swishing　the　paper　ribbons　back　and　forth　behind　Ellen。　Mammy　stood　beside　the　table；　watching　every　forkful　that　traveled　from　plate　to　mouth；　as　though　she　intended　to　force　the　food　down　Ellen’s　throat　should　she　see　signs　of　flagging。　Ellen　ate　diligently；　but　Scarlett　could　see　that　she　was　too　tired　to　know　what　she　was　eating。　Only　Mammy’s　implacable　face　forced　her　to　it。
　When　the　dish　was　empty　and　Gerald　only　midway　in　his　remarks　on　the　thievishness　of　Yankees　who　wanted　to　free　darkies　and　yet　offered　no　penny　to　pay　for　their　freedom；　Ellen　rose。
　“We’ll　be　having　prayers？”　he　questioned；　reluctantly。
　“Yes。　It　is　so　late—why；　it　is　actually　ten　o’clock；”　as　the　clock　with　coughing　and　tinny　thumps　marked　the　hour。　“Carreen　should　have　been　asleep　long　ago。　The　lamp；　please。　Pork；　and　my　prayer　book；　Mammy。”
　Prompted　by　Mammy’s　hoarse　whisper。　Jack　set　his　fly…brush　in　the　corner　and　removed　the　dishes；　while　Mammy　fumbled　in　the　sideboard　drawer　for　Ellen’s　worn　prayer　book。　Pork；　tiptoeing；　reached　the　ring　in　the　chain　and　drew　the　lamp　slowly　down　until　the　table　top　was　brightly　bathed　in　light　and　the　ceiling　receded　into　shadows。　Ellen　arranged　her　skirts　and　sank　to　the　floor　on　her　knees；　laying　the　open　prayer　book　on　the　table　before　her　and　clasping　her　hands　upon　it　Gerald　knelt　beside　her；　and　Scarlett　and　Suellen　took　their　accustomed　places　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　table；　folding　their　voluminous　petticoats　in　pads　under　their　knees；　so　they　would　ache　less　from　contact　with　the　hard　floor。　Carreen；　who　was　small　for　her　age；　could　not　kneel　comfortably　at　the　table　and　so　knelt　facing　a　chair；　her　elbows　on　the　seat。　She　liked　this　position；　for　she　seldom　failed　to　go　to　sleep　during　prayers　and；　in　this　posture；　it　escaped　her　mother’s　notice。
　The　house　servants　shuffled　and　rustled　in　the　hall　to　kneel　by　the　doorway；　Mammy　groaning　aloud　as　she　sank　down；　Pork　straight　as　a　ramrod；　Rosa　and　Teena；　the　maids；　graceful　in　their　spreading　bright　calicoes；　Cookie　gaunt　and　yellow　beneath　her　snowy　head　rag；　and　Jack；　stupid　with　sleep；　as　far　away　from　Mammy’s　pinching　fingers　as　possible。　Their　dark　eyes　gleamed　expectantly；　for　praying　with　their　white　folks　was　one　of　the　events　of　the　day。　The　old　and　colorful　phrases　of　the　litany　with　its　Oriental　imagery　meant　little　to　them　but　it　satisfied　something　in　their　hearts；　and　they　always　swayed　when　they　chanted　the　responses：　“Lord；　have　mercy　on　us；”　“Christ；　have　mercy　on　us。”
　Ellen　closed　her　eyes　and　began　praying；　her　voice　rising　and　falling；　lulling　and　soothing。　Heads　bowed　in　the　circle　of　yellow　light　as　Ellen　thanked　God　for　the　health　and　happiness　of　her　home；　her　family　and　her　negroes。
　When　she　had　finished　her　prayers　for　those　beneath　the　roof　of　Tara；　her　father；　mother；　sisters；　three　dead　babies　and　“all　the　poor　souls　in　Purgatory；”　she　clasped　her　white　beads　between