Within the envelope there was a piece of folded paper, grimy from the dirty pocket in which it had been carried, creased and ragged about the edges.

Uncle Peter's voice came as from a far distance, plaintive, placating.

For a moment she could not speak or move, and though her mind shouted: He isn't dead! He's coming home! the knowledge brought neither joy nor excitement, only a stunned immobility. ...

His old black face was as pitiful as a child's under its mother's disapproval, his dignity collapsed.

She stood rooted, unable to move from the position to which she had leaped when she heard his words, staring at the old man who stood feebly waving a letter.

There was a tumult of sound as everyone but Scarlett swarmed about the fainting Melanie, everyone crying out in alarm, scurrying into the house for water and pillows, and in a mome ...

At this question, Peter's jaw suddenly dropped and guilt and consternation swept over his wrinkled black face.

Did Auntie send you all the way down here just to bring us back on that bag of bones?

Maybe I'll come in September after the cotton is picked.

Miss Scarlett and I just can't come home now.

Poor Uncle Peter! I'm sorry I laughed.

Peter was outraged.

Everyone laughed except Peter, who shifted from one large splayed foot to the other in mounting indignation.

Suellen and Carreen giggled and even Gerald's face wore a vague smile.

Naturally, Pork and Dilcey and Mammy gave vent to loud guffaws at hearing the detractor of their beloved Tara set at naught.

They burst into laughter and hung on each other's shoulders for support.

The two girls had borne the castigation with straight faces as long as they could, but the thought of Aunt Pitty sending Peter to scold them and bring them back bodily to Atlanta w ...

Trust an ignorant city-bred darky not to know the difference between a farm and a plantation.

Auntie isn't sick, is she?

Everyone ran down the steps to greet him, black and white shaking his hand and asking questions, but Melly's voice rose above them all.

On his wide black face, accustomed dignity strove with delight at seeing old friends, with the result that his brow was furrowed in a frown but his mouth was hanging open like a ha ...

They all ran out to the front porch and saw the tall grizzled old despot of Aunt Pitty's house climbing down from a rat-tailed nag on which a section of quilting had been strapped. ...

It's Uncle Peter! Miss Pittypat's Uncle Peter!

Who is it? cried Scarlett, leaping up from the steps and racing through the hall with Melly at her shoulder and the others streaming after her.

Gawdlmighty! Miss Scarlett! Miss Melly! Come quick!

While Pork stood with the little melon clutched to him, uncertain as to the final decision, they heard Prissy cry out.

Don't be a goose, girls! There's not enough for us as it is and if there are two or three famished soldiers out there, none of us will even get a taste, said Scarlett.

Melly and Carreen whispered that the soldier guest should have a share and Scarlett, backed by Suellen and Mammy, hissed to Pork to hide it quickly.

Prissy started languidly toward the front door, while those left behind argued hotly as to whether they should hide the melon or keep it for supper, should the caller at the door p ...

One afternoon in June when everyone at Tara was assembled on the back porch eagerly watching Pork cut the first half-ripe watermelon of the season, they heard hooves on the gravel ...

It was the final degradation for her to think of Ashley reduced to the state of these other soldiers.

He should come home on a prancing horse, dressed in fine clothes and shining boots, a plume in his hat.

Let other soldiers limp by in rags with their feet tied up in sacks and strips of carpet, but not Ashley.

Then at the thought of Ashley barefooted, Scarlett could have cried.

It's a long walk and maybe��maybe he hasn't got any boots.

But don't cry, Melly! Ashley'll come home.

I never saw a nice Yankee, male or female.

She asked me how many bloodhounds we kept to chase our darkies with! I agree with Melly.

Nice, my foot! replied Scarlert.

Oh, yes, there are! God couldn't make a whole nation without having some nice women in it! Scarlett, you remember we did meet a nice Yankee woman at Saratoga that time��Scarlett, ...

Melly, there ARE some nice Yankee women.

Now, Melanie, some Yankee woman would have surely written us about it!.

But suppose��suppose he had died on the way home.

Why hadn't he written? Well, darling, you know what the mails are now��so uncertain and slipshod even where mail routes are re-established.

Why, goodness, it took days riding on a train to make the trip and if Ashley was walking, like these men.

Of course, he was coming home but his prison was so far away.

Some Yankee chaplain would have written if this were true.

Of course, Ashley hadn't died in prison.

The family tried to bolster Melanie's courage after each of these disappointments.

It was enough that they themselves were alive, and they did not care to think of the thousands in unmarked graves who would never come home.