“ Of course, she’s with me,” said Melanie fondly. “Don’t you worry about us, Uncle Henry, and do take care of yourself.”
Uncle Henry wiped his wet feet on the rag rug and groaned as he drew on his tattered shoes.
“ I got to be going,” he said. “I’ve got five miles to walk. Scarlett, you fix me up some kind of lunch to take. Anything you’ve got.”
After he had kissed Melanie good-by, he went down to the kitchen where Scarlett was wrapping a corn pone and some apples in a napkin.
“ Uncle Henry — is it — is it really so serious?”
“ Serious? God’lmighty, yes! Don’t be a goose. We’re in the last ditch.”
“ Do you think they’ll get to Tara?”
“ Why —” began Uncle Henry, irritated at the feminine mind which thought only of personal things when broad issues were involved. Then, seeing he
