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The
meal
was
gay
enough
and
even
Gerald
,
presiding
absently
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
managed
to
evoke
from
the
back
of
his
dim
mind
some
of
the
manner
of
a
host
and
an
uncertain
smile
.
The
men
talked
,
the
women
smiled
and
flattered
--
but
Scarlett
turning
suddenly
to
Frank
Kennedy
to
ask
him
news
of
Miss
Pittypat
,
caught
an
expression
on
his
face
which
made
her
forget
what
she
intended
to
say
.
His
eyes
had
left
Suellen
's
and
were
wandering
about
the
room
,
to
Gerald
's
childlike
puzzled
eyes
,
to
the
floor
,
bare
of
rugs
,
to
the
mantelpiece
denuded
of
its
ornaments
,
the
sagging
springs
and
torn
upholstery
into
which
Yankee
bayonets
had
ripped
,
the
cracked
mirror
above
the
sideboard
,
the
unfaded
squares
on
the
wall
where
pictures
had
hung
before
the
looters
came
,
the
scant
table
service
,
the
decently
mended
but
old
dresses
of
the
girls
,
the
flour
sack
which
had
been
made
into
a
kilt
for
Wade
.
Frank
was
remembering
the
Tara
he
had
known
before
the
war
and
on
his
face
was
a
hurt
look
,
a
look
of
tired
impotent
anger
.
He
loved
Suellen
,
liked
her
sisters
,
respected
Gerald
and
had
a
genuine
fondness
for
the
plantation
.
Since
Sherman
had
swept
through
Georgia
,
Frank
had
seen
many
appalling
sights
as
he
rode
about
the
state
trying
to
collect
supplies
,
but
nothing
had
gone
to
his
heart
as
Tara
did
now
.
He
wanted
to
do
something
for
the
O'Haras
,
especially
Suellen
,
and
there
was
nothing
he
could
do
.
He
was
unconsciously
wagging
his
whiskered
head
in
pity
and
clicking
his
tongue
against
his
teeth
when
Scarlett
caught
his
eye
.
He
saw
the
flame
of
indignant
pride
in
them
and
he
dropped
his
gaze
quickly
to
his
plate
in
embarrassment
.
The
girls
were
hungry
for
news
.
There
had
been
no
mail
service
since
Atlanta
fell
,
now
four
months
past
,
and
they
were
in
complete
ignorance
as
to
where
the
Yankees
were
,
how
the
Confederate
Army
was
faring
,
what
had
happened
to
Atlanta
and
to
old
friends
.
Frank
,
whose
work
took
him
all
over
the
section
,
was
as
good
as
a
newspaper
,
better
even
,
for
he
was
kin
to
or
knew
almost
everyone
from
Macon
north
to
Atlanta
,
and
he
could
supply
bits
of
interesting
personal
gossip
which
the
papers
always
omitted
.
To
cover
his
embarrassment
at
being
caught
by
Scarlett
,
he
plunged
hastily
into
a
recital
of
news
.
The
Confederates
,
he
told
them
,
had
retaken
Atlanta
after
Sherman
marched
out
,
but
it
was
a
valueless
prize
as
Sherman
had
burned
it
completely
.
"
But
I
thought
Atlanta
burned
the
night
I
left
,
"
cried
Scarlett
,
bewildered
.
"
I
thought
our
boys
burned
it
!
"
"
Oh
,
no
,
Miss
Scarlett
!
"
cried
Frank
,
shocked
.
"
We
'd
never
burn
one
of
our
own
towns
with
our
own
folks
in
it
!
What
you
saw
burning
was
the
warehouses
and
the
supplies
we
did
n't
want
the
Yankees
to
capture
and
the
foundries
and
the
ammunition
.
But
that
was
all
.
When
Sherman
took
the
town
the
houses
and
stores
were
standing
there
as
pretty
as
you
please
.
And
he
quartered
his
men
in
them
.
"
"
But
what
happened
to
the
people
?
Did
he
--
did
he
kill
them
?
"
"
He
killed
some
--
but
not
with
bullets
,
"
said
the
one-eyed
soldier
grimly
.
"
Soon
's
he
marched
into
Atlanta
he
told
the
mayor
that
all
the
people
in
town
would
have
to
move
out
,
every
living
soul
.
And
there
were
plenty
of
old
folks
that
could
n't
stand
the
trip
and
sick
folks
that
ought
not
to
have
been
moved
and
ladies
who
were
--
well
,
ladies
who
had
n't
ought
to
be
moved
either
.
And
he
moved
them
out
in
the
biggest
rainstorm
you
ever
saw
,
hundreds
and
hundreds
of
them
,
and
dumped
them
in
the
woods
near
Rough
and
Ready
and
sent
word
to
General
Hood
to
come
and
get
them
.
And
a
plenty
of
the
folks
died
of
pneumonia
and
not
being
able
to
stand
that
sort
of
treatment
.
"
