飘

n　her　straight　back　courage　she　did　not　possess　and　strength　which　had　long　since　failed。
　The　exhausted　horse　did　not　respond　to　the　whip　or　reins　but　shambled　on；　dragging　his　feet；　stumbling　on　small　rocks　and　swaying　as　if　ready　to　fall　to　his　knees。　But；　as　twilight　came；　they　at　last　entered　the　final　lap　of　the　long　journey。　They　rounded　the　bend　of　the　wagon　path　and　turned　into　the　main　road。　Tara　was　only　a　mile　away！
　Here　loomed　up　the　dark　bulk　of　the　mock…orange　hedge　that　marked　the　beginning　of　the　Macintosh　property。　A　little　farther　on；　Scarlett　drew　rein　in　front　of　the　avenue　of　oaks　that　led　from　the　road　to　old　Angus　Macintosh’s　house。　She　peered　through　the　gathering　dusk　down　the　two　lines　of　ancient　trees。　All　was　dark。　Not　a　single　light　showed　in　the　house　or　in　the　quarters。　Straining　her　eyes　in　the　darkness　she　dimly　discerned　a　sight　which　had　grown　familiar　through　that　terrible　day—two　tall　chimneys；　like　gigantic　tombstones　towering　above　the　ruined　second　floor；　and　broken　unlit　windows　blotching　the　walls　like　still；　blind　eyes。
　“Hello！”　she　shouted；　summoning　all　her　strength。　“Hello！”
　Prissy　clawed　at　her　in　a　frenzy　of　fright　and　Scarlett；　turning；　saw　that　her　eyes　were　rolling　in　her　head。
　“Doan　holler；　Miss　Scarlett！　Please；　doan　holler　agin！”　she　whispered；　her　voice　shaking。　“Dey　ain’　no　tellin’　whut　mout　answer！”
　“Dear　God！”　thought　Scarlett；　a　shiver　running　through　her。　“Dear　God！　She’s　right　Anything　might　come　out　of　there！”
　She　flapped　the　reins　and　urged　the　horse　forward。　The　sight　of　the　Macintosh　house　had　pricked　the　last　bubble　of　hope　remaining　to　her。　It　was　burned；　in　rums；　deserted；　as　were　all　the　plantations　she　had　passed　that　day。　Tara　lay　only　half　a　mite　away；　on　the　same　road；　right　in　the　path　of　the　army。　Tara　was　leveled；　too！　She　would　find　only　the　blackened　bricks；　starlight　shining　through　the　roofless　walls；　Ellen　and　Gerald　gone；　the　girls　gone；　Mammy　gone；　the　negroes　gone；　God　knows　where；　and　this　hideous　stillness　over　everything。
　Why　had　she　come　on　this　fool’s　errand；　against　all　common　sense；　dragging　Melanie　and　her　child？　Better　that　they　had　died　in　Atlanta　than；　tortured　by　this　day　of　burning　sun　and　jolting　wagon；　to　die　in　the　silent　ruins　of　Tara。
　But　Ashley　had　left　Melanie　in　her　care。　Take　care　of　her。”　Oh；　that　beautiful；　heartbreaking　day　when　he　had　kissed　her　good…by　before　he　went　away　forever！　“You’ll　take　care　of　her；　won’t　you？　Promise！”　And　she　had　promised。　Why　had　she　ever　bound　herself　with　such　a　promise；　doubly　binding　now　that　Ashley　was　gone？　Even　in　her　exhaustion　she　hated　Melanie；　hated　the　tiny　mewing　voice　of　her　child　which；　fainter　and　fainter；　pierced　the　stillness。　But　she　had　promised　and　now　they　belonged　to　her；　even　as　Wade　and　Prissy　belonged　to　her；　and　she　must　struggle　and　fight　for　them　as　long　as　she　had　strength　or　breath。　She　could　have　left　them　in　Atlanta；　dumped　Melanie　into　the　hospital　and　deserted　her。　But　had　she　done　that；　she　could　never　face　Ashley；　either　on　this　earth　or　in　the　hereafter　and　tell　him　she　had　left　his　wife　and　child　to　die　among　strangers。
　Oh；　Ashley！　Where　was　he　tonight　while　she　toiled　down　this　haunted　road　with　his　wife　and　baby？　Was　he　alive　and　did　he　think　of　her　as　he　lay　behind　the　bars　at　Rock　Island？　Or　was　he　dead　of　smallpox　months　ago；　rotting　in　some　long　ditch　with　hundreds　of　other　Confederates？
　Scarlett’s　taut　nerves　almost　cracked　as　a　sudden　noise　sounded　in　the　underbrush　near　them。　Prissy　screamed　loudly；　throwing　herself　to　the　floor　of　the　wagon；　the　baby　beneath　her。　Melanie　stirred　feebly；　her　hands　seeking　the　baby；　and　Wade　covered　his　eyes　and　cowered；　too　frightened　to　cry。　Then　the　bushes　beside　them　crashed　apart　under　heavy　hooves　and　a　low　moaning　bawl　assaulted　their　ears。
　“It’s　only　a　cow；”　said　Scarlett；　her　voice　rough　with　fright。　“Don’t　be　a　fool；　Prissy。　You’ve　mashed　the　baby　and　frightened　Miss　Melly　and　Wade。”
　“It’s　a　ghos’；”　moaned　Prissy；　writhing　face　down　on　the　wagon　boards。
　Turning　deliberately；　Scarlett　raised　the　tree　limb　she　had　been　using　as　a　whip　and　brought　it　down　across　Prissy’s　back。　She　was　too　exhausted　and　weak　from　fright　to　tolerate　weakness　in　anyone　else。
　“Sit　up；　you　fool；”　she　said；　“before　I　wear　this　out　on　you。”
　Yelping；　Prissy　raised　her　head　and　peering　over　the　side　of　the　wagon　saw　it　was；　indeed；　a　cow；　a　red　and　white　animal　which　stood　looking　at　them　appealingly　with　large　frightened　eyes。　Opening　its　mouth；　it　lowed　again　as　if　in　pain。
　“Is　it　hurt？　That　doesn’t　sound　like　an　ordinary　moo。”
　“Soun’　ter　me　lak　her　bag　full　an’　she　need　milkin’　bad；”　said　Prissy；　regaining　some　measure　of　control。　“Spec　it　one　of　Mist’　Macintosh’s　dat　de　niggers　driv　in　de　woods　an’　de　Yankees　din’　git。”
　“Well　take　it　with　us；”　Scarlett　decided　swiftly。　“Then　we　can　have　some　milk　for　the　baby。”
　“How　all　we　gwine　tek　a　cow　wid　us；　Miss　Scarlett？　We　kain　tek　no　cow　wid　us。　Cow　ain’　no　good　nohow　effen　she　ain’　been　milked　lately。　Dey　bags　swells　up　and　busts。　Dat’s　why　she　hollerin’。”
　“Since　you　know　so　much　about　it；　take　off　your　petticoat　and　tear　it　up　and　tie　her　to　the　back　of　the　wagon。”
　“Miss　Scarlett；　you　knows　Ah　ain’　had　no　petticoat　fer　a　month　an’　did　Ah　have　one；　Ah　wouldn’　put　it　on　her　fer　nuthin’。　Ah　nebber　had　no　truck　wid　cows。　Ah’s　sceered　of　cows。”
　Scarlett　laid　down　the　reins　and　pulled　up　her　skirt。　The　lace…trimmed　petticoat　beneath　was　the　last　garment　she　possessed　that　was　pretty—and　whole。　She　untied　the　waist　tape　and　slipped　it　down　over　her　feet；　crushing　the　soft　linen　folds　between　her　hands。　Rhett　had　brought　her　that　linen　and　lace　from　Nassau　on　the　last　boat　he　slipped　through　the　blockade　and　she　had　worked　a　week　to　make　the　garment。　Resolutely　she　took　it　by　the　hem　and　jerked；　put　it　in　her　mouth　and　gnawed；　until　finally　the　material　gave　with　a　rip　and　tore　the　length。　She　gnawed　furiously；　tore　with　both　hands　and　the　petticoat　lay　in　strips　in　her　hands。　She　knotted　the　ends　with　fingers　that　bled　from　blisters　and　shook　from　fatigue。
　“Slip　this　over　her　horns；”　she　directed。　But　Prissy　balked。
　“Ah’s　sceered　of　cows；　Miss　Scarlett。　Ah　ain’　nebber　had　nuthin’　ter　do　wid　cows。　Ah　ain’　no　yard　nigger。　Ah’s　a　house　nigger。”
　“You’re　a　fool　nigger；　and　the　worst　day’s　work　Pa　ever　did　was　to　buy　you；”　said　Scarlett　slowly；　too　tired　for　anger。　“And　if　I　ever　get　the　use　of　my　arm　again；　I’ll　wear　this　whip　out　on　you。”
　There；　she　thought；　I’ve　said　“nigger”　and　Mother　wouldn’t　like　that　at　all。
　Prissy　rolled　her　eyes　wildly；　peeping　first　at　the　set　face　of　her　mistress　and　then　at　the　cow　which　bawled　plaintively。　Scarlett　seemed　the　less　dangerous　of　the　two；　so　Prissy　clutched　at　the　sides　of　the　wagon　and　remained　where　she　was。
　Stiffly；　Scarlett　climbed　down　from　the　seat；　each　movement　of　agony　of　aching　muscles。　Prissy　was　not　the　only　one　who　was　“sceered”　of　cows。　Scarlett　had　always　feared　them；　even　the　mildest　cow　seemed　sinister　to　her；　but　this　was　no　time　to　truckle　to　small　fears　when　great　ones　crowded　so　thick　upon　her。　Fortunately　the　cow　was　gentle。　In　its　pain　it　had　sought　human　companionship　and　help　and　it　made　no　threatening　gesture　as　she　looped　one　end　of　the　torn　petticoat　about　its　horns。　She　tied　the　other　end　to　the　back　of　the　wagon；　as　securely　as　her　awkward　fingers　would　permit。　Then；　as　she　started　back　toward　the　driver’s　seat；　a　vast　weariness　assailed　her　and　she　swayed　dizzily。　She　clutched　the　side　of　the　wagon　to　keep　from　falling。
　Melanie　opened　her　eyes　and；　seeing　Scarlett　standing　beside　her；　whispered：　“Dear—are　we　home？”
　Home！　Hot　tears　came　to　Scarlett’s　eyes　at　the　word。　Home。　Melanie　did　not　know　there　was　no　home　and　that　they　were　alone　in　a　mad　and　desolate　world。
　“Not　yet；”　she　said；　as　gently　as　the　constriction　of　her　throat　would　permit；　“but　we　will　be；　soon。　I’ve　just　found　a　cow　and　soon　well　have　some　milk　for　you　and　the　baby。”
　“Poor　baby；”　whispered　Melanie；　her　hand　creeping　feebly　toward　the　child　and　falling　short。
　Climbing　back　into　the　wagon　required　all　the　strength　Scarlett　could　muster；　but　at　last　it　was　done　and　she　picked　up　the　lines。　The　horse　stood　with　head　drooping　dejectedly　and　refused　to　start。　Scarlett　laid　on　the　whip　mercilessly。　She　hoped　God　would　forgive　her　for　hurting　a　tired　animal。　If　He　didn’t　she　was　sorry。　After　all；　Tara　lay　just　ahead；　and　after　the　next　quarter　of　a　mile；　the　horse　could　drop　in　the　shafts　if　he　liked。
　Finally　he　started　slowly；　the　wagon　creaking　and　the　cow　lowing　mournfully　at　every　step。　The　pained　animal’s　voice　rasped　on　Scarlett’s　nerves　until　she　was　tempted　to　stop　and　untie　the　beast。　What　good　would　the　cow　do　them　anyway　if　there　should　be　no　one　at　Tara？　She　couldn’t　milk　her　and；　even　if　she　could；　the　animal　would　probably　kick　anyone　who　touched　her　sore　udder。　But　she　had　the　cow　and　she　might　as　well　keep　her。　There　was　little　else　she　had　in　this　world　now。
　Scarlett’s　eyes　grew　misty　when；　at　last；　they　reached　the　bottom　of　a　gentle　in