Voice, Scarlett thought hard.

"I could bury him in the corner of the garden under the arbor--the

ground is soft there where Pork dug up the whisky barrel. But how

will I get him there?"

"We'll both take a leg and drag him," said Melanie firmly.

Reluctantly, Scarlett's admiration went still higher.

"You couldn't drag a cat. I'll drag him," she said roughly. "You

go back to bed. You'll kill yourself. Don't dare try to help me

either or I'll carry you upstairs myself."

Melanie's white face broke into a sweet understanding smile. "You

are very dear, Scarlett," she said and softly brushed her lips

against Scarlett's cheek. Before Scarlett could recover from her

surprise, Melanie went on: "If you can drag him out, I'll mop up

the--the mess before the folks get home, and Scarlett--"

"Yes?"

"Do you suppose it would be dishonest to go through his knapsack?

He might have something to eat."

"I do not," said Scarlett, annoyed that she had not thought of this

herself. "You take the knapsack and I'll go through his pockets."

Stooping over the dead man with distaste, she unbuttoned the

remaining buttons of his jacket and systematically began rifling

his pockets.

"Dear God," she whispered, pulling out a bulging wallet, wrapped

about with a rag. "Melanie--Melly, I think it's full of money!"

Melanie said nothing but abruptly sat down on the floor and leaned

back against the wall.

"You look," she said shakily. "I'm feeling a little weak."

Scarlett tore off the rag and with trembling hands opened the

leather folds.

"Look, Melly--just look!"

Melanie looked and her eyes dilated. Jumbled together was a mass

of bills, United States greenbacks mingling with Confederate money

and, glinting from between them, were one ten-dollar gold piece and

two five-dollar gold pieces.

"Don't stop to count it now," said Melanie as Scarlett began

fingering the bills. "We haven't time--"

"Do you realize, Melanie, that this money means that we'll eat?"

"Yes, yes, dear. I know but we haven't time now. You look in his

other pockets and I'll take the knapsack."

Scarlett was loath to put down the wallet. Bright vistas opened

before her--real money, the Yankee's horse, food! There was a God

after all, and He did provide, even if He did take very odd ways of

providing. She sat on her haunches and stared at the wallet

smiling. Food! Melanie plucked it from her hands--

"Hurry!" she said.

The trouser pockets yielded nothing except a candle end, a

jackknife, a plug of tobacco and a bit of twine. Melanie removed

from the knapsack a small package of coffee which she sniffed as if

It were the sweetest of perfumes, hardtack and, her face changing,

a miniature of a little girl in a gold frame set with seed pearls,

a garnet brooch, two broad gold bracelets with tiny dangling gold

chains, a gold thimble, a small silver baby's cup, gold embroidery

scissors, a diamond solitaire ring and a pair of earrings with

pendant pear-shaped diamonds, which even their unpracticed eyes

could tell were well over a carat each.

"A thief!" whispered Melanie, recoiling from the still body.

"Scarlett, he must have stolen all of this!"

"Of course," said Scarlett. "And he came here hoping to steal more

from us."

"I'm glad you killed him," said Melanie her gentle eyes hard. "Now

hurry, darling, and get him out of here."

Scarlett bent over, caught the dead man by his boots and tugged.

How heavy he was and how weak she suddenly felt. Suppose she

shouldn't be able to move him? Turning so that she backed the

corpse, she caught a heavy boot under each arm and threw her weight

forward. He moved and she jerked again. Her sore foot, forgotten