飘

　“　‘Tis　the　Tarleton　ladies；”　he　announced　to　his　daughters；　his　florid　face　abeam；　for　excepting　Ellen　there　was　no　lady　in　the　County　he　liked　more　than　the　red…haired　Mrs。　Tarleton。　“And　‘tis　herself　at　the　reins。　Ah；　there’s　a　woman　with　fine　hands　for　a　horse！　Feather　light　and　strong　as　rawhide；　and　pretty　enough　to　kiss　for　all　that。　More’s　the　pity　none　of　you　have　such　hands；”　he　added；　casting　fond　but　reproving　glances　at　his　girls。　“With　Carreen　afraid　of　the　poor　beasts　and　Sue　with　hands　tike　sadirons　when　it　comes　to　reins　and　you；　Puss—”
　“Well；　at　any　rate　I’ve　never　been　thrown；”　cried　Scarlett　indignantly。　“And　Mrs。　Tarleton　takes　a　toss　at　every　hunt。”
　“And　breaks　a　collar　bone　like　a　man；”　said　Gerald。　“No　fainting；　no　fussing。　Now；　no　more　of　it；　for　here　she　comes。”
　He　stood　up　in　his　stirrups　and　took　off　his　hat　with　a　sweep；　as　the　Tarleton　carriage；　overflowing　with　girls　in　bright　dresses　and　parasols　and　fluttering　veils；　came　into　view；　with　Mrs。　Tarleton　on　the　box　as　Gerald　had　said。　With　her　four　daughters；　their　mammy　and　their　ball　dresses　in　long　cardboard　boxes　crowding　the　carriage；　there　was　no　room　for　the　coachman。　And；　besides；　Beatrice　Tarleton　never　willingly　permitted　anyone；　black　or　white；　to　hold　reins　when　her　arms　were　out　of　slings。　Frail；　fine…boned；　so　white　of　skin　that　her　flaming　hair　seemed　to　have　drawn　all　the　color　from　her　face　into　its　vital　burnished　mass；　she　was　nevertheless　possessed　of　exuberant　health　and　untiring　energy。　She　had　borne　eight　children；　as　red　of　hair　and　as　full　of　life　as　she；　and　had　raised　them　most　successfully；　so　the　County　said；　because　she　gave　them　all　the　loving　neglect　and　the　stem　discipline　she　gave　the　colts　she　bred。　“Curb　them　but　don’t　break　their　spirits；”　was　Mrs。　Tarleton’s　motto。
　She　loved　horses　and　talked　horses　constantly。　She　understood　them　and　handled　them　better　than　any　man　in　the　County。　Colts　overflowed　the　paddock　onto　the　front　lawn；　even　as　her　eight　children　overflowed　the　rambling　house　on　the　hill；　and　colts　and　sons　and　daughters　and　hunting　dogs　tagged　after　her　as　she　went　about　the　plantation。　She　credited　her　horses；　especially　her　red　mare；　Nellie；　with　human　intelligence；　and　if　the　cares　of　the　house　kept　her　busy　beyond　the　time　when　she　expected　to　take　her　daily　ride；　she　put　the　sugar　bowl　in　the　hands　of　some　small　pickaninny　and　said：　“Give　Nellie　a　handful　and　tell　her　I’ll　be　out　terrectly。”
　Except　on　rare　occasions　she　always　wore　her　riding　habit；　for　whether　she　rode　or　not　she　always　expected　to　ride　and　in　that　expectation　put　on　her　habit　upon　arising。　Each　morning；　rain　or　shine；　Nellie　was　saddled　and　walked　up　and　down　in　front　of　the　house；　waiting　for　the　time　when　Mrs。　Tarleton　could　spare　an　hour　away　from　her　duties。　But　Fairhill　was　a　difficult　plantation　to　manage　and　spare　time　hard　to　get；　and　more　often　than　not　Nellie　walked　up　and　down　riderless　hour　after　hour；　while　Beatrice　Tarleton　went　through　the　day　with　the　skirt　of　her　habit　absently　looped　over　her　arm　and　six　inches　of　shining　boot　showing　below　it。
　Today；　dressed　in　dull　black　silk　over　unfashionably　narrow　hoops；　she　still　looked　as　though　in　her　habit；　for　the　dress　was　as　severely　tailored　as　her　riding　costume　and　the　small　black　hat　with　Ha　long　black　plume　perched　over　one　warm；　twinkling；　brown　eye　was　a　replica　of　the　battered　old　hat　she　used　for　hunting。
　She　waved　her　whip　when　she　saw　Gerald　and　drew　her　dancing　pair　of　red　horses　to　a　halt；　and　the　four　girls　in　the　back　of　the　carriage　leaned　out　and　gave　such　vociferous　cries　of　greeting　that　the　team　pranced　in　alarm。　To　a　casual　observer　it　would　seem　that　years　had　passed　since　the　Tarletons　had　seen　the　O’Haras；　instead　of　only　two　days。　But　they　were　a　sociable　family　and　liked　their　neighbors；　especially　the　O’Hara　girls。　That　is；　they　liked　Suellen　and　Carreen。　No　girl　in　the　County；　with　the　possible　exception　of　the　empty…headed　Cathleen　Calvert；　really　liked　Scarlett。
　In　summers；　the　County　averaged　a　barbecue　and　ball　nearly　every　week；　but　to　the　red…haired　Tarletons　with　their　enormous　capacity　for　enjoying　themselves；　each　barbecue　and　each　ball　was　as　exciting　as　if　it　were　the　fast　they　had　ever　attended。　They　were　a　pretty；　buxom　quartette；　so　crammed　into　the　carriage　that　their　hoops　and　flounces　overlapped　and　their　parasols　nudged　and　bumped　together　above　their　wide　leghorn　sun　hats；　crowned　with　roses　and　dangling　with　black　velvet　chin　ribbons。　All　shades　of　red　hair　were　represented　beneath　these　hats；　Hetty’s　plain　red　hair；　Camilla’s　strawberry　blonde；　Randa’s　coppery　auburn　and　small　Betsy’s　carrot　top。
　“That’s　a　fine　bevy。　Ma’m；”　said　Gerald　gallantly；　reining　his　horse　alongside　the　carriage。　“But　it’s　far　they’ll　go　to　beat　their　mother。”
　Mrs。　Tarleton　rolled　her　red…brown　eyes　and　sucked　in　her　tower　lip　in　burlesqued　appreciation；　and　the　girls　cried；　“Ma；　stop　making；　eyes　or　well　tell　Pa！”　“I　vow；　Mr。　O’Hara；　she　never　gives　us　a　chance　when　there’s　a　handsome　man　like　you　around！”
　Scarlett　laughed　with　the　rest　at　these　sallies　but；　as　always；　the　freedom　with　which　the　Tarletons　treated　their　mother　came　as　a　shock。　They　acted　as　if　she　were　one　of　themselves　and　not　a　day　over　sixteen。　To　Scarlett；　the　very　idea　of　saying　such　things　to　her　own　mother　was　almost　sacrilegious。　And　yet—and　yet—there　was　something　very　pleasant　about　the　Tarleton　girls’　relations　with　their　mother；　and　they　adored　her　for　all　that　they　criticized　and　scolded　and　teased　her。　Not；　Scarlett　loyally　hastened　to　tell　herself；　that　she　would　prefer　a　mother　like　Mrs。　Tarleton　to　Ellen；　but　still　it　would　be　fun　to　romp　with　a　mother。　She　knew　that　even　that　thought　was　disrespectful　to　Ellen　and　felt　ashamed　of　it。　She　knew　no　such　troublesome　thoughts　ever　disturbed　the　brains　under　the　four　flaming　thatches　in　the　carriage　and；　as　always　when　she　felt　herself　different　from　her　neighbors；　an　irritated　confusion　fell　upon　her。
　Quick　though　her　brain　was；　it　was　not　made　for　analysis；　but　she　half…consciously　realized　that；　for　all　the　Tarleton　girls　were　as　unruly　as　colts　and　wild　as　March　hares；　there　was　an　unworried　single…mindedness　about　them　that　was　part　of　their　inheritance。　On　both　their　mother’s　and　their　father’s　side　they　were　Georgians；　north　Georgians；　only　a　generation　away　from　pioneers。　They　were　sure　of　themselves　and　of　their　environment。　They　knew　instinctively　what　they　were　about；　as　did　the　Wilkeses；　though　in　widely　divergent　ways；　and　in　them　there　was　no　such　conflict　as　frequently　raged　in　Scarlett’s　bosom　where　the　blood　of　a　soft…voiced；　overbred　Coast　aristocrat　mingled　with　the　shrewd；　earthy　blood　of　an　Irish　peasant。　Scarlett　wanted　to　respect　and　adore　her　mother　like　an　idol　and　to　rumple　her　hair　and　tease　her　too。　And　she　knew　she　should　be　altogether　one　way　or　the　other。　It　was　the　same　conflicting　emotion　that　made　her　desire　to　appear　a　delicate　and　high…bred　lady　with　boys　and　to　be；　as　well；　a　hoyden　who　was　not　above　a　few　kisses。
　“Where’s　Ellen　this　morning？”　asked　Mrs。　Tarleton。
　“She’s　after　discharging　our　overseer　and　stayed　home　to　go　over　the　accounts　with　him。　Where’s　himself　and　the　lads？”
　“Oh；　they　rode　over　to　Twelve　Oaks　hours　ago—to　sample　the　punch　and　see　if　it　was　strong　enough；　I　dare　say；　as　if　they　wouldn’t　have　from　now　till　tomorrow　morning　to　do　it！　I’m　going　to　ask　John　Wilkes　to　keep　them　overnight；　even　if　he　has　to　bed　them　down　in　the　stable。　Five　men　in　their　cups　are　just　too　much　for　me。　Up　to　three；　I　do　very　well　but—”
　Gerald　hastily　interrupted　to　change　the　subject　He　could　feel　his　own　daughters　snickering　behind　his　back　as　they　remembered　in　what　condition　he　had　come　home　from　the　Wilkeses’　last　barbecue　the　autumn　before。
　“And　why　aren’t　you　riding　today；　Mrs。　Tarleton？　Sure；　you　don’t　look　yourself　at　all　without　Nellie。　It’s　a　stentor；　you　are。”
　“A　stentor；　me　ignorant　broth　of　a　boy！”　cried　Mrs。　Tarleton；　aping　his　brogue。　“You　mean　a　centaur。　Stentor　was　a　man　with　a　voice　like　a　brass　gong。”
　“Stentor　or　centaur；　‘tis　no　matter；”　answered　Gerald；　unruffled　by　his　error。　“And　‘tis　a　voice　like　brass　you　have；　Ma’m；　when　you’re　urging　on　the　hounds；　so　it　is。”
　“That’s　one　on　you；　Ma；”　said　Hetty。　“I　told　you　you　yelled　like　a　Comanche　whenever　you　saw　a　fox。”
　“But　not　as　loud　as　you　yell　when　Mammy　washes　your　ears；”　returned　Mrs。　Tarleton。　“And　you　sixteen！　Well；　as　to　why　I’m　not　riding　today；　Nellie　foaled　early　this　morning。”
　“Did　she　now！”　cried　Gerald　with　real　interest；　his　Irishman’s　passion　for　horses　shining　in　his　eyes；　and　Scarlett　again　felt　the　sense　of　shock　in　comparing　her　mother　with　Mrs。　Tarleton。　To　Ellen；　mares　never　foaled　nor　cows　calved。　In　fact；　hens　almost　didn’t　lay　eggs。　Ellen　ignored　these　matters；　completely。　But　Mrs。　Tarleton　had　no　such　reticences。
　“A　little　filly；　was　it？”
　“No；　a　fine　little　stallion　with　legs　two　yards　long。　You　must　ride　over　and　see　him；　Mr。　O’Hara。　He’s　a　real　Tarleton　horse。　He’s　as　red　as　Hetty’s　curls。”
　“And　looks　a　lot　like　He