“Dey talked in front of me lak Ah wuz a mule an’ couldn’ unnerstan’ dem—lak Ah wuz a Affikun an’ din’ know whut dey wuz talkin’ ‘bout；” said Peter； giving a tremendous sniff。 “An’ dey call me a nigger an’ Ah’ ain’ never been call a nigger by no w’ite folks； an’ dey call me a ole pet an’ say dat niggers ain’ ter be trus’ed！ Me not ter be trus’ed！ Why； w’en de ole Cunnel wuz dyin’ he say ter me； “You； Peter！ You look affer mah chillun。 Tek keer of yo’ young Miss Pittypat；’ he say； ‘ ‘cause she ain’ got no mo’ sense dan a hoppergrass。’ An’ Ah done tek keer of her good all dese y’ars—”
“Nobody but the Angel Gabriel could have done better；” said Scarlett soothingly。 “We just couldn’t have lived without you。”
“Yas’m； thankee kinely； Ma’m。 Ah knows it an’ you knows it； but dem Yankee folks doan know it an’ dey doan want ter know it； Huccome dey come mixin’ in our bizness； Miss Scarlett？ Dey doan unnerstan’ us Confedruts。”
Scarlett said nothing for she was still burning with the wrath she had not exploded in the Yankee women’s faces。 The two drove home in silence。 Peter’s sniffles stopped and his underlip began to protrude gradually until it stuck out alarmingly。 His indignation was mounting； now that the initial hurt was subsiding。
Scarlett thought： What damnably queer people Yankees are！ Those women seemed to think that because Uncle Peter was black； he had no ears to hear with and no feelings； as tender as their own； to be hurt。 They did not know that negroes had to be handled gently； as though they were children； directed； praised； petted； scolded。 They didn’t understand negroes or the relations between the negroes and their former masters。 Yet they had fought a war to free them。 And having freed them； they didn’t want to have anything to do with them； except to use them to terrorize Southerners。 They didn’t like them； didn’t trust them； didn’t understand them； and yet their constant cry was that Southerners didn’t know how to get along with them。
Not trust a darky！ Scarlett trusted them far more than most white people； certainly more than she trusted any Yankee。 There were qualities of loyalty and tirelessness and love in them that no strain could break； no money could buy。 She thought of the faithful few who remained at Tara in the face of the Yankee invasion when they could have fled or joined the troops for lives of leisure。 But they had stayed。 She thought of Dilcey toiling in the cotton fields beside her； of Pork risking his life in neighboring hen houses that the family might eat； of Mammy coming to Atlanta with her to keep her from doing wrong。 She thought of the servants of her neighbors who had stood loyally beside their white owners； protecting their mistresses while the men were at the front； refugeeing with them through the terrors of the war； nursing the wounded； burying the dead； comforting the bereaved； working； begging； stealing to keep food on the tables。 And even now； with the Freedmen’s Bureau promising all manner of wonders； they still stuck with their white 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 g