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“Lemme have what you got in yore hand； lady。”
She had forgotten the trinkets she had intended to hide and； with a sneer which she hoped was as eloquent as that pictured on Grandma Robillard’s face； she flung the articles to the floor and almost enjoyed the rapacious scramble that ensued。
“I’ll trouble you for thet ring and them earbobs。”
Scarlett tucked the baby more securely under her arm so that he hung face downward； crimson and screaming； and removed the garnet earrings which had been Gerald’s wedding present to Ellen。 Then she stripped off the large sapphire solitaire which Charles had given her as an engagement ring。
“Don’t throw um。 Hand um to me；” said the sergeant； putting out his hands。 “Them bastards got enough already。 What else have you got？” His eyes went over her basque sharply。
For a moment Scarlett went faint； already feeling rough hands thrusting themselves into her bosom； fumbling at her garters。
“That is all； but I suppose it is customary to strip your victims？”
“Oh； I’ll take your word；” said the sergeant good naturedly； spitting again as he turned away。 Scarlett righted the baby and tried to soothe him； holding her hand over the place on the diaper where the wallet was hidden； thanking God that Melanie had a baby and that baby had a diaper。
Upstairs she could hear heavy boots trampling； the protesting screech of furniture pulled across the floor； the crashing of china and mirrors； the curses when nothing of value appeared。 From the yard came loud cries： “Head um off！ Don’t let um get away！” and the despairing squawks of the hens and quacking and honking of the ducks and geese。 A pang went through her as she heard an agonized squealing which was suddenly stilled by a pistol shot and she knew that the sow was dead。 Damn Prissy！ She had run off and left her。 If only the shoats were safe！ If only the family had gotten safely to the swamp！ But there was no way of knowing。
She stood quietly in the hall while the soldiers boiled about her； shouting and cursing。 Wade’s fingers were in her skirt in a terrified grip。 She could feel his body shaking as he pressed against her but she could not bring herself to speak reassuringly to him。 She could not bring herself to utter any word to the Yankees； either of pleading； protest or anger。 She could only thank God that her knees still had the strength to support her； that her neck was still strong enough to hold her head high。 But when a squad of bearded men came lumbering down the steps； laden with an assortment of stolen articles and she saw Charles’ sword in the hands of one； she did cry out。
That sword was Wade’s。 It had been his father’s and his grandfather’s sword and Scarlett had given it to the little boy on his last birthday。 They had made quite a ceremony of it and Melanie had cried； cried with tears of pride and sorrowful memory； and kissed him and said he must grow up to be a brave soldier like his father and his grandfather。 Wade was very proud of it and often climbed upon the table beneath where it hung to pat it。 Scarlett could endure seeing her own possessions going out of the house in hateful alien hands but not this—not her little boy’s pride。 Wade； peering from the protection of her skirts at the sound of her cry； found speech and courage in a mighty sob。 Stretching out one hand he cried：
“Mine！”
“You can’t take that！” said Scarlett swiftly； holding out her hand too。
“I can’t； hey？” said the little soldier who held it； grinning impudently at her。 “Well； I can！ It’s a Rebel sword！”
“It’s—it’s not。 It’s a Mexican War sword。 You can’t take it。 It’s my little boy’s。 It was his grandfather’s！ Oh； Captain；” she cried； turning to the sergeant； “please make him give it to me！”
The sergeant； pleased at his promotion； stepped forward。
“Lemme see thet sword； Bub；” he said。 Reluctantly； the little trooper handed it to him。 “It’s got a solid…gold hilt；” he said。
The sergeant turned it in his hand； held the hilt up to the sunlight to read the engraved inscription。
“ ‘To Colonel William R。 Hamilton；’ ” he deciphered。 “ ‘From His Staff。 For Gallantry。 Buena Vista。 1847。’ ”
“Ho； lady；” he said； “I was at Buena Vista myself。”
“Indeed；” said Scarlett icily。
“Was I？ Thet was hot fightin’； lemme tell you。 I ain’t seen such hot fightin’ in this war as we seen in thet one。 So this sword was this little tyke’s grandaddy’s？”
“Yes。”
“Well； he can have it；” said the sergeant； who was satisfied enough with the jewelry and trinkets tied up in his handkerchief。
“But it’s got a solid…gold hilt；” insisted the little trooper。
“We’ll leave her thet to remember us by；” grinned the sergeant。
Scarlett took the sword； not even saying “Thank you。” Why should she thank these thieves for returning her own property to her？ She held the sword against her while the little cavalryman argued and wrangled with the sergeant。
“By God； I’ll give these damn Rebels something to remember me by；” shouted the private finally when the sergeant； losing his good nature； told him to go to hell and not talk back。 The little man went charging toward the back of the house and Scarlett breathed more easily。 They had said nothing about burning the house。 They hadn’t told her to leave so they could fire it。 Perhaps—perhaps— The men came rambling into the hall from the upstairs and the out of doors。
“Anything？” questioned the sergeant。
“One hog and a few chickens and ducks。”
“Some corn and a few yams and beans。 That wildcat we saw on the horse must have given the alarm； all right。”
“Regular Paul Revere； eh？”
“Well； there ain’t much here； Sarge。 You got the pickin’s。 Let’s move on before the whole country gets the news we’re comin’。”
“Didja dig under the smokehouse？ They generally buries things there。”
“Ain’t no smokehouse。”
“Didja dig in the nigger cabins？”
“Nothin’ but cotton in the cabins。 We set fire to it。”
For a brief instant Scarlett saw the long hot days in the cotton field； felt again the terrible ache in her back； the raw bruised flesh of her shoulders。 All for nothing。 The cotton was gone。
“You ain’t got much； for a fac’； have you； lady？”
“Your army has been here before；” she said coolly。
“That’s a fac’。 We were in this neighborhood in September；” said one of the men； turning something in his hand。 “I’d forgot。”
Scarlett saw it was Ellen’s gold thimble that he held。 How often she had seen it gleaming in and out of Ellen’s fancy work。 The sight of it brought back too many hurting memories of the slender hand which had worn it。 There it lay in this stranger’s calloused duly palm and soon it would find its way North and onto the finger of some Yankee woman who would be proud to wear stolen things。 Ellen’s thimble！
Scarlett dropped her head so the enemy could not see her cry and the tears fell slowly down on the baby’s head。 Through the blur； she saw the men moving toward the doorway； heard the sergeant calling commands in a loud rough voice。 They were going and Tara was safe； but with the pain of Ellen’s memory on her； she was hardly glad。 The sound of t