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"
Good
for
the
sow
,
"
thought
Scarlett
.
She
hurried
back
into
her
room
and
hastily
gathered
from
their
hiding
place
the
bracelets
,
brooch
,
miniature
and
cup
she
had
found
on
the
dead
Yankee
.
But
where
to
hide
them
?
It
was
awkward
,
carrying
little
Beau
in
one
arm
and
the
wallet
and
the
trinkets
in
the
other
.
She
started
to
lay
him
on
the
bed
.
He
set
up
a
wail
at
leaving
her
arms
and
a
welcome
thought
came
to
her
.
What
better
hiding
place
could
there
be
than
a
baby
's
diaper
?
She
quickly
turned
him
over
,
pulled
up
his
dress
and
thrust
the
wallet
down
the
diaper
next
to
his
backside
.
He
yelled
louder
at
this
treatment
and
she
hastily
tightened
the
triangular
garment
about
his
threshing
legs
.
"
Now
,
"
she
thought
,
drawing
a
deep
breath
,
"
now
for
the
swamp
!
"
Tucking
him
screaming
under
one
arm
and
clutching
the
jewelry
to
her
with
the
other
,
she
raced
into
the
upstairs
hall
.
Suddenly
her
rapid
steps
paused
,
fright
weakening
her
knees
.
How
silent
the
house
was
!
How
dreadfully
still
!
Had
they
all
gone
off
and
left
her
?
Had
n't
anyone
waited
for
her
?
She
had
n't
meant
for
them
to
leave
her
here
alone
.
These
days
anything
could
happen
to
a
lone
woman
and
with
the
Yankees
coming
--
She
jumped
as
a
slight
noise
sounded
and
,
turning
quickly
,
saw
crouched
by
the
banisters
her
forgotten
son
,
his
eyes
enormous
with
terror
.
He
tried
to
speak
but
his
throat
only
worked
silently
.
"
Get
up
,
Wade
Hampton
,
"
she
commanded
swiftly
.
"
Get
up
and
walk
.
Mother
ca
n't
carry
you
now
.
"
He
ran
to
her
,
like
a
small
frightened
animal
,
and
clutching
her
wide
skirt
,
buried
his
face
in
it
.
She
could
feel
his
small
hands
groping
through
the
folds
for
her
legs
.
She
started
down
the
stairs
,
each
step
hampered
by
Wade
's
dragging
hands
and
she
said
fiercely
:
"
Turn
me
loose
,
Wade
!
Turn
me
loose
and
walk
!
"
But
the
child
only
clung
the
closer
.
As
she
reached
the
landing
,
the
whole
lower
floor
leaped
up
at
her
.
All
the
homely
,
well-loved
articles
of
furniture
seemed
to
whisper
:
"
Good-by
!
Good-by
!
"
A
sob
rose
in
her
throat
.
There
was
the
open
door
of
the
office
where
Ellen
had
labored
so
diligently
and
she
could
glimpse
a
corner
of
the
old
secretary
.
There
was
the
dining
room
,
with
chairs
pushed
awry
and
food
still
on
the
plates
.
There
on
the
floor
were
the
rag
rugs
Ellen
had
dyed
and
woven
herself
.
And
there
was
the
old
portrait
of
Grandma
Robillard
,
with
bosoms
half
bared
,
hair
piled
high
and
nostrils
cut
so
deeply
as
to
give
her
face
a
perpetual
well-bred
sneer
.
Everything
which
had
been
part
of
her
earliest
memories
,
everything
bound
up
with
the
deepest
roots
in
her
:
"
Good-by
!
Good-by
,
Scarlett
O'Hara
!
"
