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"
Well
,
I
do
.
I
'm
so
tired
of
sitting
at
home
.
"
"
Scarlett
,
promise
me
you
wo
n't
say
things
like
that
.
People
would
talk
so
.
They
'd
say
you
did
n't
have
the
proper
respect
for
poor
Charlie
--
"
"
Oh
,
Auntie
,
do
n'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
.
Do
n'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-inlaw
.
