Chapter 9

           Scarlettsatinthewindowofherbedroomthatmidsummermorninganddisconsolatelywatchedthewagonsandcarriagesfullofgirls,soldiersandchaperonsridegailyoutPeachtreeroadinsearchofwoodlanddecorationsforthebazaarwhichwastobeheldthateveningforthebenefitofthehospitals.Theredroadlaycheckeredinshadeandsunglarebeneaththeover-archingtreesandthemanyhooveskickeduplittleredcloudsofdust.Onewagon,aheadoftheothers,borefourstoutnegroeswithaxestocutevergreensanddragdownthevines,andthebackofthiswagonwaspiledhighwithnapkin-coveredhampers,split-oakbasketsoflunchandadozenwatermelons.Twooftheblackbuckswereequippedwithbanjoandharmonicaandtheywererenderingaspiritedversionof"IfYouWanttoHaveaGoodTime,JinetheCavalry."Behindthemstreamedthemerrycavalcade,girlscoolinfloweredcottondresses,withlightshawls,bonnetsandmittstoprotecttheirskinsandlittleparasolsheldovertheirheads;elderlyladiesplacidandsmilingamidthelaughterandcarriage-to-carriagecallsandjokes;convalescentsfromthehospitalswedgedinbetweenstoutchaperonsandslendergirlswhomadegreatfussandto-dooverthem;officersonhorsebackidlingatsnail’spacebesidethecarriages—wheelscreaking,spursjingling,goldbraidgleaming,parasolsbobbing,fansswishing,negroessinging.EverybodywasridingoutPeachtreeroadtogathergreeneryandhaveapicnicandmeloncutting.Everybody,thoughtScarlett,morosely,exceptme.

           Theyallwavedandcalledtoherastheywentbyandshetriedtorespondwithagoodgrace,butitwasdifficult.Ahardlittlepainhadstartedinherheartandwastravelingslowlyuptowardherthroatwhereitwouldbecomealumpandthelumpwouldsoonbecometears.Everybodywasgoingtothepicnicexcepther.Andeverybodywasgoingtothebazaarandtheballtonightexcepther.