minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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knew how to handle them.

Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and
foot since infancy, the faces of the three on the porch were
neither slack nor soft. They had the vigor and alertness of
country people who have spent all their lives in the open and
troubled their heads very little with dull things in books. Life
in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and,
according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a
little crude. The more sedate and older sections of the South
looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in
north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classical education
carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things that
mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting
straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and
carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that
mattered.

In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally
outstanding in their notorious inability to learn anything
contained between the covers of books. Their family had more
money, more horses, more slaves than any one else in the County,
but the boys had less grammar than most of their poor Cracker
neighbors.

It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling
on the porch of Tara this April afternoon. They had just been
expelled from the University of Georgia, the fourth university
that had thrown them out in two years; and their older brothers,
Tom and Boyd, had come home with them, because they refused to
remain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuart
and Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and
Scarlett, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the
Fayetteville Female Academy the year before, thought it just as
amusing as they did.

"I know you two don't care about being expelled, or Tom either,"
she said. "But what about Boyd? He's kind of set on getting an
education, and you two have pulled him out of the University of
Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He'll
never get finished at this rate."

"Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee's office over in
Fayetteville," answered Brent carelessly. "Besides, it don't
matter much. We'd have had to come home before the term was out
anyway."

"Why?"

"The war, goose! The war's going to start any day, and you don't
suppose any of us would stay in college with a war going on, do
you?"

"You know there isn't going to be any war," said Scarlett, bored.
"It's all just talk. Why, Ashley Wilkes and his father told Pa
just last week that our commissioners in Washington would come
to--to--an--amicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the
Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of us to
fight. There won't be any war, and I'm tired of hearing about
it."

"Not going to be any war!" cried the twins indignantly, as though
they had been defrauded.

"Why, honey, of course there's going to be a war," said Stuart.
"The Yankees may be scared of us, but after the way General
Beauregard shelled them out of Fort Sumter day before yesterday,
they'll have to fight or stand branded as cowards before the whole
world. Why, the Confederacy--"

Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.

"If you say 'war' just once more, I'll go in the house and shut
the door. I've never gotten so tired of any one word in my life
as 'war,' unless it's 'secession.' Pa talks war morning, noon and
night, and all the gentlemen who come to see him shout about Fort
Sumter and States' Rights and Abe Lincoln till I get so bored I
could scream! And that's all the boys talk about, too, that and
their old Troop. There hasn't been any fun at any party this
spring because the boys can't talk about anything else. I'm
mighty glad Georgia waited till after Christmas before it seceded
or it would have ruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say
'war' again, I'll go in the house."

She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any
conversation of which she was not the chief subject. But she
smiled when she spoke, consciously deepening her dimple and
fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies'
wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them to be,
and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none
the less of her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought
more. War was men's business, not ladies', and they took her
attitude as evidence of her femininity.

Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she
went back with interest to their immediate situation.

"What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?"

The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother's conduct

knew how to handle them.

Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and

foot since infancy, the faces of the three on the porch were

neither slack nor soft. They had the vigor and alertness of

country people who have spent all their lives in the open and

troubled their heads very little with dull things in books. Life

in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and,

according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a

little crude. The more sedate and older sections of the South

looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in

north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classical education

carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things that

mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting

straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and

carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that

mattered.

In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally

outstanding in their notorious inability to learn anything

contained between the covers of books. Their family had more

money, more horses, more slaves than any one else in the County,

but the boys had less grammar than most of their poor Cracker

neighbors.

It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling

on the porch of Tara this April afternoon. They had just been

expelled from the University of Georgia, the fourth university

that had thrown them out in two years; and their older brothers,

Tom and Boyd, had come home with them, because they refused to

remain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuart

and Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and

Scarlett, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the

Fayetteville Female Academy the year before, thought it just as

amusing as they did.

"I know you two don't care about being expelled, or Tom either,"

she said. "But what about Boyd? He's kind of set on getting an

education, and you two have pulled him out of the University of

Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He'll

never get finished at this rate."

"Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee's office over in

Fayetteville," answered Brent carelessly. "Besides, it don't

matter much. We'd have had to come home before the term was out

anyway."

"Why?"

"The war, goose! The war's going to start any day, and you don't

suppose any of us would stay in college with a war going on, do

you?"

"You know there isn't going to be any war," said Scarlett, bored.

"It's all just talk. Why, Ashley Wilkes and his father told Pa

just last week that our commissioners in Washington would come

to--to--an--amicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the

Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of us to

fight. There won't be any war, and I'm tired of hearing about

it."

"Not going to be any war!" cried the twins indignantly, as though

they had been defrauded.

"Why, honey, of course there's going to be a war," said Stuart.

"The Yankees may be scared of us, but after the way General

Beauregard shelled them out of Fort Sumter day before yesterday,

they'll have to fight or stand branded as cowards before the whole

world. Why, the Confederacy--"

Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.

"If you say 'war' just once more, I'll go in the house and shut

the door. I've never gotten so tired of any one word in my life

as 'war,' unless it's 'secession.' Pa talks war morning, noon and

night, and all the gentlemen who come to see him shout about Fort

Sumter and States' Rights and Abe Lincoln till I get so bored I

could scream! And that's all the boys talk about, too, that and

their old Troop. There hasn't been any fun at any party this

spring because the boys can't talk about anything else. I'm

mighty glad Georgia waited till after Christmas before it seceded

or it would have ruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say

'war' again, I'll go in the house."

She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any

conversation of which she was not the chief subject. But she

smiled when she spoke, consciously deepening her dimple and

fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies'

wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them to be,

and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none

the less of her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought

more. War was men's business, not ladies', and they took her

attitude as evidence of her femininity.

Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she

went back with interest to their immediate situation.

"What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?"

The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother's conduct