In de Tarleton fambly. It look--well, it look dyed ter me!"

"It is," said Scarlett shortly, walking faster.

"Does you know a dyed-ha'rd woman? Ah ast you who she is."

"She's the town bad woman," said Scarlett briefly, "and I give you

my word I don't know her, so shut up."

"Gawdlmighty!" breathed Mammy, her jaw dropping as she looked after

the carriage with passionate curiosity. She had not seen a

professional bad woman since she left Savannah with Ellen more than

twenty years before and she wished ardently that she had observed

Belle more closely.

"She sho dressed up fine an' got a fine cah'ige an' coachman," she

muttered. "Ah doan know whut de Lawd thinkin' 'bout lettin' de bad

women flurrish lak dat w'en us good folks is hongry an' mos'

barefoot."

"The Lord stopped thinking about us years ago," said Scarlett

savagely. "And don't go telling me Mother is turning in her grave

to hear me say it, either."

She wanted to feel superior and virtuous about Belle but she could

not. If her plans went well, she might be on the same footing with

Belle and supported by the same man. While she did not regret her

decision one whit, the matter in its true light discomfited her.

"I won't think of it now," she told herself and hurried her steps.

They passed the lot where the Meade house had stood and there

remained of it only a forlorn pair of stone steps and a walk,

leading up to nothing. Where the Whitings' home had been was bare

ground. Even the foundation stones and the brick chimneys were

gone and there were wagon tracks where they had been carted away.

The brick house of the Elsings still stood, with a new roof and a

new second floor. The Bonnell home, awkwardly patched and roofed

with rude boards instead of shingles, managed to look livable for

all its battered appearance. But in neither house was there a face

at the window or a figure on the porch, and Scarlett was glad. She

did not want to talk to anyone now.

Then the new slate roof of Aunt Pitty's house came in view with its

red-brick walls, and Scarlett's heart throbbed. How good of the

Lord not to level it beyond repair! Coming out of the front yard

was Uncle Peter, a market basket on his arm, and when he saw

Scarlett and Mammy trudging along, a wide, incredulous smile split

his black face.

I could kiss the old black fool, I'm so glad to see him, thought

Scarlett, joyfully and she called: "Run get Auntie's swoon bottle,

Peter! It's really me!"

That night the inevitable hominy and dried peas were on Aunt

Pitty's supper table and, as Scarlett ate them, she made a vow that

these two dishes would never appear on her table when she had money

again. And, no matter what price she had to pay, she was going to

have money again, more than just enough to pay the taxes on Tara.

Somehow, some day she was going to have plenty of money if she had

to commit murder to get it.

In the yellow lamplight of the dining room, she asked Pitty about

her finances, hoping against hope that Charles' family might be

able to lend her the money she needed. The questions were none too

subtle but Pitty, in her pleasure at having a member of the family

to talk to, did not even notice the bald way the questions were

put. She plunged with tears into the details of her misfortunes.

She just didn't know where her farms and town property and money

had gone but everything had slipped away. At least, that was what

Brother Henry told her. He hadn't been able to pay the taxes on

her estate. Everything except the house she was living in was gone

and Pitty did not stop to think that the house had never been hers

but was the joint property of Melanie and Scarlett. Brother Henry

could just barely pay taxes on this house. He gave her a little

something every month to live on and, though it was very

humiliating to take money from him, she had to do it.

"Brother Henry says he doesn't know how he'll make ends meet with

the load he's carrying and the taxes so high but, of course, he's

probably lying and has loads of money and just won't give me much."

Scarlett knew Uncle Henry wasn't lying. The few letters she had

had from him in connection with Charles' property showed that. The

old lawyer was battling valiantly to save the house and the one

piece of downtown property where the warehouse had been, so Wade

and Scarlett would have something left from the wreckage. Scarlett

knew he was carrying these taxes for her at a great sacrifice.

"Of course, he hasn't any money," thought Scarlett grimly. "Well,

check him and Aunt Pitty off my list. There's nobody left but

Rhett. I'll have to do it. I must do it. But I mustn't think

about it now. . . . I must get her to talking about Rhett so I can

casually suggest to her to invite him to call tomorrow."

She smiled and squeezed the plump palms of Aunt Pitty between her

own.

"Darling Auntie," she said, "don't let's talk about distressing

things like money any more. Let's forget about them and talk of

pleasanter things. You must tell me all the news about our old

friends. How is Mrs. Merriwether and Maybelle? I heard that

Maybelle's little Creole came home safely. How are the Elsings and

Dr. and Mrs. Meade?"

Pittypat brightened at the change of subject and her baby face

stopped quivering with tears. She gave detailed reports about old

neighbors, what they were doing and wearing and eating and

thinking. She told with accents of horror how, before Rene Picard

came home from the war, Mrs. Merriwether and Maybelle had made ends

meet by baking pies and selling them to the Yankee soldiers.