And now； having worked like a field hand； she had to retire decorously when the fun was just beginning。 Oh； it wasn’t fair that she should have a dead husband and a baby yelling in the next room and be out of everything that was pleasant。 Just a little over a year ago； she was dancing and wearing bright clothes instead of this dark mourning and was practically engaged to three boys。 She was only seventeen now and there was still a lot of dancing left in her feet。 Oh； it wasn’t fair！ Life was going past her； down a hot shady summer road； life with gray uniforms and jingling spurs and flowered organdie dresses and banjos playing。 She tried not to smile and wave too enthusiastically to the men she knew best； the ones she’d nursed in the hospital； but it was hard to subdue her dimples； hard to look as though her heart were in the grave—when it wasn’t。
Her bowing and waving were abruptly halted when Pittypat entered the room； panting as usual from climbing the stairs； and jerked her away from the window unceremoniously。
“Have you lost your mind； honey； waving at men out of your bedroom window？ I declare； Scarlett； I’m shocked！ What would your mother say？”
“Well； they didn’t know it was my bedroom。”
“But they’d suspect it was your bedroom and that’s just as bad。 Honey； you mustn’t do things like that Everybody will be talking about you and saying you are fast—and anyway； Mrs。 Merriwether knew it was your bedroom。”
“And I suppose she’ll tell all the boys； the old cat。”
“Honey； hush！ Dolly Merriwether’s my best friend。”
“Well； she’s a cat just the same—oh； I’m sorry； Auntie； don’t cry！ I forgot it was my bedroom window。 I won’t do it again—I—I just wanted to see them go by。 I wish I was going。”
“Honey！”
“Well； I do。 I’m so tired of sitting at home。”
“Scarlett； promise me you won’t say things like that。 People would talk so。 They’d say you didn’t have the proper respect for poor Charlie—”
“Oh； Auntie； don’t cry！”
“Oh； now I’ve made you cry； too；” sobbed Pittypat； in a pleased way； fumbling in her skirt pocket for her handkerchief。
The hard little pain had at last reached Scarlett’s throat and she wailed out loud—not； as Pittypat thought； for poor Charlie but because the last sounds of the wheels and the laughter were dying away。 Melanie rustled in from her room； a worried frown puckering her forehead； a brush in her hands； her usually tidy black hair； freed of its net； fluffing about her face in a mass of tiny curls and waves。
“Darlings！ What is the matter？”
“Charlie！” sobbed Pittypat； surrendering utterly to the pleasure of her grief and burying her head on Melly’s shoulder。
“Oh；” said Melly； her lip quivering at the mention of her brother’s name。 “Be brave； dear。 Don’t cry。 Oh； Scarlett！”
Scarlett had thrown herself on the bed and was sobbing at the top of her voice； sobbing for her lost youth and the pleasures of youth that were denied her； sobbing with the indignation and despair of a child who once could get anything she wanted by sobbing and now knows that sobbing can no longer help her。 She burrowed her head in the pillow and cried and kicked her feet at the tufted counterpane。
“I might as well be dead！” she sobbed passionately。 Before such an exhibition of grief； Pittypat’s easy tears ceased and Melly flew to the bedside to comfort her sister…in…law。
“Dear； don’t cry！ Try to think how much Charlie loved you and let that comfort you！ Try to think of your darling baby。”
Indignation at being misunderstood mingled with Scarlett’s forlorn feeling of being out of everything and strangled all utterance。 That was fortunate； for if she could have spoken she would have cried out truths coached in Gerald’s forthright words。 Melanie patted her shoulder and Pittypat tiptoed heavily about the room pulling down the shades。
“Don’t do that！” shouted Scarlett； raising a red and swollen face from the pillow。 I’m not dead enough for you to pull down the shades—though I might as well be。 Oh； do go away and leave me alone！”
She sank her face into the pillow again and； after a whispered conference； the two standing over her tiptoed out。 She heard Melanie say to Pittypat in a low voice as they went down the stairs：
“Aunt Pitty； I wish you wouldn’t speak of Charles to her。 You know how it always affects her。 Poor thing； she gets that queer look and I know she’s trying not to cry。 We mustn’t make it harder for her。”
Scarlett kicked the coverlet in impotent rage； trying to think of something bad enough to say。
“God’s nightgown！” she cried at last； and felt somewhat relieved。 How could Melanie be content to stay at home and never have any fun and wear crêpe for her brother when she was only eighteen years old？ Melanie did not seem to know； or care； that life was riding by with jingling spurs。
“But she’s such a stick；” thought Scarlett； pounding the pillow。 “And she never was popular like me； so she doesn’t miss the things I miss。 And—and besides she’s got Ashley and I—I haven’t got anybody！” And at this fresh woe； she broke into renewed outcries。
She remained gloomily in her room until afternoon and then the sight of the returning picnickers with wagons piled high with pine boughs； vines and ferns did not cheer her。 Everyone looked ‘happily tired as they waved to her again and she returned their greetings drearily。 Life was a hopeless affair and certainly not worth living。
Deliverance came in the form she least expected when； during the after…dinner…nap period； Mrs。 Merriwether and Mrs。 Elsing drove up。 Startled at having callers at such an hour； Melanie； Scarlett and Aunt Pittypat roused themselves； hastily hooked their basques； smoothed their hair and descended to the parlor。
“Mrs。 Bonnell’s children have the measles；” said Mrs。 Merriwether abruptly； showing plainly that she held Mrs。 Bonnell personally responsible for permitting such a thing to happen。
“And the McLure girls have been called to Virginia；” said Mrs。 Elsing in her die…away voice； fanning herself languidly as if neither this nor anything else mattered very much。 “Dallas McLure is wounded。”
“How dreadful！ chorused their hostesses。 “Is poor Dallas—”
“No。 Just through the shoulder；” said Mrs。 Merriwether briskly。 “But it couldn’t possibly have happened at a worse time。 The girls are going North to bring him home。 But； skies above； we haven’t time to sit here talking。 We must hurry back to the Armory and get the decorating done。 Pitty； we need you and Melly tonight to take Mrs。 Bonnell’s and the McLure girls’ places。”
“Oh； but； Dolly； we can’t go。”
“Don’t say ‘can’t’ to me； Pittypat Hamilton；” said Mrs。 Merriwether vigorously。 “We need you to watch the darkies with the refreshments。 That was what Mrs。 Bonnell was to do。 And Melly； you must take the McLure girls’ booth。”
“Oh； we just couldn’t—with poor Charlie dead only a—”
“I know how you feel but there isn’t any sacrifice too great for the Cause；” broke in Mrs。 Elsing in a soft voice that settled matters。
“Oh； we’d love to help but—why can’t you get some sweet pretty girls to take the booths？”
Mrs。 Merriwether snorted a trumpeting snort。
“I don’t know what’s come over the young people these days。 They have no sense of responsibility。 All the girls who haven’t already taken booths have more excuses than you could shake a stick at。 Oh； they don’t fool me！ They just don’t want to be hampered in making up to the officers； that’s all。 And they’re afraid their new dresses won’t show off behind booth counters。 I wish to goodness that blockade runner—what’s his name？”
“Captain Butler；” supplied Mrs。 Elsing。
“I wish he’d bring in more hospital supplies and less hoop skirts and lace。 If I’ve had to look at one dress today I’ve had to look at twenty dresses that he ran in。 Captain Butler—I’m sick of the name。 Now； Pitty； I haven’t time to argue。 You must come。 Everybody will understand。 Nobody will see you in the back room anyway； and Melly won’t be conspicuous。 The poor McLure girls’ booth is way down at the end and not very pretty so nobody will notice you。”
“I think we should go；” said Scarlett； trying to curb her eagerness and to keep her face earnest and simple。 “It is the least we can do for the hospital。”
Neither of the visiting ladies had even mentioned her name； and they turned and looked sharply at her。 Even in their extremity； they had not considered asking a widow of scarcely a year to appear at a social function。 Scarlett bore their gaze with a wide…eyed childlike expression。
“I think we should go and help to make it a success； all of us。 I think I should go in the booth with Melly because—well； I think it would look better for us both to be there instead of just one。 Don’t you think so； Melly？”
“Well；” began Melly helplessly。 The idea of appearing publicly at a social gathering while in mourning was so unheard of she was bewildered。
“Scarlett’s right；” said Mrs。 Merriwether； observing signs of weakening。 She rose and jerked her hoops into place。 “Both of you—all of you must come。 Now； Pitty； don’t start your excuses again。 Just think how much the hospital needs money for new beds and drugs。 And I know Charlie would like you to help the Cause he died for。”
“Well；” said Pittypat； helpless as always in the presence of a stronger personality； “if you think people will understand。”
“Too good to be true！ Too good to be true！” said Scarlett’s joyful heart as she slipped unobtrusively into the pink… and yellow…draped booth that was to have been the McLure girls’。 Actually she was at a party！ After a year’s seclusion； after crêpe and hushed voices and nearly going crazy with boredom； she was actually at a party； the biggest party Atlanta had ever seen。 And she could see people and many lights and hear music and view for herself the lovely laces and frocks and frills that the famous Captain Butler had run through the blockade on his last trip。
She sank down on one of the little stools behind the counter of the booth and looked up and down the long hall which； until this afternoon； had been a bare and ugly drill room。 How the la