Somewhere was the world and families who ate and slept safely under their own roofs。 Somewhere girls in thrice…turned dresses were flirting gaily and singing “When This Cruel War Is Over；” as she had done； only a few weeks before。 Somewhere there was a war and cannon booming and burning towns and men who rotted in hospitals amid sickening…sweet stinks。 Somewhere a barefoot army in dirty homespun was marching； fighting； sleeping； hungry and weary with the weariness that comes when hope is gone。 And somewhere the hills of Georgia were blue with Yankees； well…fed Yankees on sleek corn…stuffed horses。
Beyond Tara was the war and the world。 But on the plantation the war and the world did not exist except as memories which must be fought back when they rushed to mind in moments of exhaustion。 The world outside receded before the demands of empty and half…empty stomachs and life resolved itself into two related thoughts； food and how to get it。
Food！ Food！ Why did the stomach have a longer memory man the mind？ Scarlett could banish heartbreak but not hunger and each morning as she lay half asleep； before memory brought back to her mind war and hunger； she curled drowsily expecting the sweet smells of bacon frying and rolls baking。 And each morning she sniffed so hard to really smell the food she woke herself up。
There were apples； yams； peanuts and milk on the table at Tara but never enough of even this primitive fare。 At the sight of them； three times a day； her memory would rush back to the old days； the meals of the old days； the candle…lit table and the food perfuming the air。
How careless they had been of food then； what prodigal waste！ Rolls； corn muffins； biscuits and waffles； dripping butter； all at one meal。 Ham at one end of the table and fried chicken at the other； collards swimming richly in pot liquor iridescent with grease； snap beans in mountains on brightly flowered porcelain； fried squash； stewed okra； carrots in cream sauce thick enough to cut。 And three desserts； so everyone might have his choice； chocolate layer cake； vanilla blanc mange and pound cake topped with sweet whipped cream。 The memory of those savory meals had the power to bring tears to her eyes as death and war had failed to do； and the power to turn her ever…gnawing stomach from rumbling emptiness to nausea。 For the appetite Mammy had always deplored； the healthy appetite of a nineteen…year…old girl； now was increased fourfold by the hard and unremitting labor she had never known before。
Hers was not the only troublesome appetite at Tara； for wherever she turned hungry faces； black and white； met her eyes。 Soon Carreen and Suellen would have the insatiable hunger of typhoid convalescents。 Already little Wade whined monotonously： “Wade doan like yams。 Wade hungwy。”
The others grumbled； too：
“Miss Scarlett； ‘ness I gits mo’ to eat； I kain nuss neither of these chillun。”
“Miss Scarlett； ef Ah doan have mo’ in mah stummick； Ah kain split no wood。”
“Lamb； Ah’s perishra’ fer real vittles。”
“Daughter； must we always have yams？”
Only Melanie did not complain； Melanie whose face grew thinner and whiter and twitched with pain even in her sleep。
“I’m not hungry； Scarlett。 Give my share of the milk to Dilcey。 She needs it to nurse the babies。 Sick people are never hungry。”
It was her gentle hardihood which irritated Scarlett more than the nagging whining voices of the others。 She could—and did—shout them down with bitter sarcasm but before Melanie’s unselfishness she was helpless； helpless and resentful。 Gerald； the negroes and Wade clung to Melanie now； because even in her weakness she was kind and sympathetic； and these days Scarlett was neither。
Wade especially haunted Melanie’s room。 There was something wrong with Wade； but just what it was Scarlett had no time to discover。 She took Mammy’s word that the little boy had worms and dosed him with the mixture of dried herbs and bark which Ellen always used to worm the pickaninnies。 But the vermifuge only made the child look paler。 These days Scarlett hardly thought of Wade as a person。 He was only another worry； another mouth to feed。 Some day when the present emergency was over； she would play with him； tell him stories and teach him his ABCs but now she did not have the time or the soul or the inclination。 And； because he always seemed underfoot when she was most weary and worried； she often spoke sharply to him。
It annoyed her that her quick reprimands brought such acute fright to his round eyes； for he looked so simple minded when he was frightened。 She did not realize that the little boy lived shoulder to shoulder with terror too great for an adult to comprehend。 Fear lived with Wade； fear that shook his soul and made him wake screaming in the night。 Any unexpected noise or sharp word set him to trembling； for in his mind noises and harsh words were inextricably mixed with Yankees and he was more afraid of Yankees than of Prissy’s hants。
Until the thunders of the siege began； he had never known anything but a happy； placid； quiet life。 Even though his mother paid him little attention； he had known nothing but petting and kind words until the night when he was jerked from slumber to find the sky aflame and the air deafening with explosions。 In that night and the day which followed； he had been slapped by his mother for the first time and had heard her voice raised at him in harsh words。 Life in the pleasant brick house on Peachtree Street； the only life he knew； had vanished that night and he would never recover from its loss。 In the flight from Atlanta； he had understood nothing except that the Yankees were after him and now he still lived in fear that the Yankees would catch him and cut him to pieces。 Whenever Scarlett raised her voice in reproof； he went weak with fright as his vague childish memory brought up the horrors of the first time she had ever done it。 Now； Yankees and a cross voice were linked forever in his mind and he was afraid of his mother。
Scarlett could not help noticing that the child was beginning to avoid her and； in the rare moments when her unending duties gave her time to think about it； it bothered her a great deal。 It was even worse than having him at her skirts all the time and she was offended that his refuge was Melanie’s bed where he played quietly at games Melanie suggested or listened to stories she told。 Wade adored “Auntee” who had a gentle voice； who always smiled and who never said： “Hush； Wade！ You give me a headache” or “Stop fidgeting； Wade； for Heaven’s sake！”
Scarlett had neither the time nor the impulse to pet him but it made her jealous to see Melanie do it。 When she found him one day standing on his head in Melanie’s bed and saw him collapse on her； she slapped him。
“Don’t you know better than to jiggle Auntee like that when she’s sick？ Now； trot right out in the yard and play； and don’t come in here again。”
But Melanie reached out a weak arm and drew the wailing child to her。
“There； there； Wade。 You didn’t mean to jiggle me； did you？ He doesn’t bother me； Scarlett。 Do let him stay with me。 Let me take care of him。 It’s the only thing I can do till I get well； and you’ve got your hands full enough without having to watch him。”
“Don’t be a goose； Melly；” said Scarlett shortly。 “You aren’t getting well like you should and having Wade fall on your stomach won’t help you。 Now； Wade； if I ever catch you on Auntee’s bed again； I’ll wear you out。 And stop sniffling。 You are always sniffling。 Try to be a little man。”
Wade flew sobbing to hide himself under the house。 Melanie bit her lip and tears came to her eyes； and Mammy standing in the hall； a witness to the scene； scowled and breathed hard。 But no one talked back to Scarlett these days。 They were all afraid of her sharp tongue； all afraid of the new person who walked in her body。
Scarlett reigned supreme at Tara now and； like others suddenly elevated to authority； all the Bullying instincts in her nature rose to the surface。 It was not that she was basically unkind。 It was because she was so frightened and unsure of herself she was harsh lest others learn her inadequacies： and refuse her authority。 Besides； there was some pleasure in shouting at people and knowing they were afraid。 Scarlett found that it relieved her overwrought nerves。 She was not blind to the fact that her personality was changing。 Sometimes when her curt orders made Pork stick out his under lip and Mammy mutter： “Some folks rides mighty high dese days；” she wondered where her good manners had gone。 All the courtesy； all the gentleness Ellen had striven to instill in her had fallen away from her as quickly as leaves fall from trees in the first chill wind of autumn。
Time and again； Ellen had said： “Be firm but be gentle with inferiors； especially darkies。” But if she was gentle the darkies would sit in the kitchen all day； talking endlessly about the good old days when a house nigger wasn’t supposed to do a field hand’s work。
“Love and cherish your sisters。 Be kind to the afflicted；” said Ellen。 “Show tenderness to those in sorrow and in trouble。”
She couldn’t love her sisters now。 They were simply a dead weight on her shoulders。 And as for cherishing them； wasn’t she bathing them； combing their hair and…feeding them； even at the expense of walking miles every day to find vegetables？ Wasn’t she learning to milk the cow； even though her heart was always in her throat when that fearsome animal shook its horns at her？ And as for being kind； that was a waste of time。 If she was overly kind to them； they’d probably prolong their stay in bed； and she wanted them on their feet again as soon as possible； so there would be four more hands to help her。
They were convalescing slowly and lay scrawny and weak in their bed。 While they had been unconscious； the world had changed。 The Yankees had come； the darkies had gone and Mother had died。 Here were three unbelievable happenings and their minds could not take them in。 Sometimes they believed they must still be delirious and these things had not happened at all。 Certainly Scarlett was so changed she couldn’t be real。 When she hung over the foot of their bed and outlined t