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- Стр. 376/927
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Dilcey
worked
tirelessly
,
silently
,
like
a
machine
,
and
Scarlett
,
with
her
back
aching
and
her
shoulder
raw
from
the
tugging
weight
of
the
cotton
bag
she
carried
,
thought
that
Dilcey
was
worth
her
weight
in
gold
.
"
Dilcey
,
"
she
said
,
"
when
good
times
come
back
,
I
'm
not
going
to
forget
how
you
've
acted
.
You
've
been
mighty
good
.
"
The
bronze
giantess
did
not
grin
pleasedly
or
squirm
under
praise
like
the
other
negroes
.
She
turned
an
immobile
face
to
Scarlett
and
said
with
dignity
:
"
Thankee
,
Ma
'm
.
But
Mist
'
Gerald
and
Miss
Ellen
been
good
to
me
.
Mist
'
Gerald
buy
my
Prissy
so
I
wouldn
'
grieve
and
I
doan
forgit
it
.
I
is
part
Indian
and
Indians
doan
forgit
them
as
is
good
to
them
.
I
sorry
'
bout
my
Prissy
.
She
mighty
wuthless
.
Look
lak
she
all
nigger
lak
her
pa
.
Her
pa
was
mighty
flighty
.
"
In
spite
of
Scarlett
's
problem
of
getting
help
from
the
others
in
the
picking
and
in
spite
of
the
weariness
of
doing
the
labor
herself
,
her
spirits
lifted
as
the
cotton
slowly
made
its
way
from
the
fields
to
the
cabins
.
There
was
something
about
cotton
that
was
reassuring
,
steadying
Tara
had
risen
to
riches
on
cotton
,
even
as
the
whole
South
had
risen
,
and
Scarlett
was
Southerner
enough
to
believe
that
both
Tara
and
the
South
would
rise
again
out
of
the
red
fields
.
Of
course
,
this
little
cotton
she
had
gathered
was
not
much
but
it
was
something
.
It
would
bring
a
little
in
Confederate
money
and
that
little
would
help
her
to
save
the
hoarded
greenbacks
and
gold
in
the
Yankee
's
wallet
until
they
had
to
be
spent
.
Next
spring
she
would
try
to
make
the
Confederate
government
send
back
Big
Sam
and
the
other
field
hands
they
had
commandeered
,
and
if
the
government
would
n't
release
them
,
she
'd
use
the
Yankee
's
money
to
hire
field
hands
from
the
neighbors
.
Next
spring
,
she
would
plant
and
plant
...
.
She
straightened
her
tired
back
and
,
looking
over
the
browning
autumn
fields
,
she
saw
next
year
's
crop
standing
sturdy
and
green
,
acre
upon
acre
.
Next
spring
!
Perhaps
by
next
spring
the
war
would
be
over
and
good
times
would
be
back
.
And
whether
the
Confederacy
won
or
lost
,
times
would
be
better
.
Anything
was
better
than
the
constant
danger
of
raids
from
both
armies
.
When
the
war
was
over
,
a
plantation
could
earn
an
honest
living
.
Oh
,
if
the
war
were
only
over
!
Then
people
could
plant
crops
with
some
certainty
of
reaping
them
!
There
was
hope
now
.
The
war
could
n't
last
forever
.
She
had
her
little
cotton
,
she
had
food
,
she
had
a
horse
,
she
had
her
small
but
treasured
hoard
of
money
.
Yes
,
the
worst
was
over
!
On
a
noonday
in
mid-November
,
they
all
sat
grouped
about
the
dinner
table
,
eating
the
last
of
the
dessert
concocted
by
Mammy
from
corn
meal
and
dried
huckleberries
,
sweetened
with
sorghum
.
There
was
a
chill
in
the
air
,
the
first
chill
of
the
year
,
and
Pork
,
standing
behind
Scarlett
's
chair
,
rubbed
his
hands
together
in
glee
and
questioned
:
"
Ain
'
it
'
bout
time
fer
de
hawg
killin
'
,
Miss
Scarlett
?
"
"
You
can
taste
those
chitlins
already
,
ca
n't
you
?
"
said
Scarlett
with
a
grin
.
"
Well
,
I
can
taste
fresh
pork
myself
and
if
the
weather
holds
for
a
few
days
more
,
we
'll
--
"
