Chapter 27
On a noonday in mid-November, they all sat grouped about the dinner table, eating the last of the dessert concocted by Mammy from corn meal and dried huckleberries, sweetened with sorghum. There was a chill in the air, the first chill of the year, and Pork, standing behind Scarlett’s chair, rubbed his hands together in glee and questioned: “Ain’ it ‘bout time fer de hawg killin’, Miss Scarlett?”
“ You can taste those chitlins already, can’t you?” said Scarlett with a grin. “Well, I can taste fresh pork myself and if the weather holds for a few days more, we’ll —”
Melanie interrupted, her spoon at her lips,
“ Listen, dear! Somebody’s coming!”
“ Somebody hollerin’,” said Pork uneasily.
On the crisp autumn air came clear the sound of horse’s hooves, thudding as swiftly as
