This certainty of the morrow gave zest and enthusiasm to life， and the County people enjoyed life with a heartiness that Ellen could never understand. They had money enough and slaves enough to give them time to play， and they liked to play.They seemed never too busy to drop work for a fish fry， a hunt or a horse race， and scarcely a week went by without its barbecue or ball.
Ellen never would， or could， quite become one of them—she had left too much of herself in Savannah—but she respected them and， in time， learned to admire the frankness and forthrightness of these people， who had few reticences and who valued a man for what he was.
She became the best-loved neighbor in the County. She was a thrifty and kind mistress， a good mother and a devoted wife.The heartbreak and selflessness that she would have dedicated to the Church were devoted instead to the service of her child， her household and the man who had taken her out of Savannah and its memories and had never asked any questions.
When Scarlett was a year old， and more healthy and vigorous than a girl baby had any right to be， in Mammy's opinion， Ellen's second child， named Susan Elinor， but always called Suellen， was born， and in due time came Carreen， listed in the family Bible as Caroline Irene. Then followed three little boys， each of whom died before he had learned to walk—three little boys who now lay under the twisted cedars in the burying ground a hundred yards from the house， beneath three stones， each bearing the name of“Gerald O'Hara， Jr.”
From the day when Ellen first came to Tara， the place had been transformed. If she was only fifteen years old， she was nevertheless ready for the responsibilities of the mistress of a plantation.Before marriage， young girls must be， above all other things， sweet， gentle， beautiful and ornamental， but， after marriage， they were expected to manage households that numbered a hundred people or more， white and black， and they were trained with that in view.
Ellen had been given this preparation for marriage which any well-brought-up young lady received， and she also had Mammy， who could galvanize the most shiftless negro into energy. She quickly brought order， dignity and grace into Gerald's household， and she gave to Tara a beauty it had never had before.
The house had been built according to no architectural plan whatever， with extra rooms added where and when it seemed convenient， but， with Ellen's care and attention， it gained a charm that made up for its lack of design. The avenue of cedars leading from the main road to the house—that avenue of cedars without which no Georgia planter's home could be complete—had a cool dark shadiness that gave a brighter tinge， by contrast， to the green of the other trees.The wisteria tumbling over the verandas showed bright against the whitewashed brick， and it joined with the pink crêpe myrtle bushes by the door and the white-blossomed magnolias in the yard to disguise some of theawkward lines of the house.
In springtime and summer， the Bermuda grass and clover on the lawn became emerald， so enticing an emerald that it presented an irresistible temptation to the flocks of turkeys and white geese that were supposed to roam only the regions in the rear of the house. The elders of the flocks continually led stealthy advances into the front yard， lured on by the green of the grass and the luscious promise of the cape jessamine buds and the zinnia beds.Against their depredations， a small black sentinel was stationed on the front porch.Armed with a ragged towel， the little negro boy sitting on the steps was part of the picture of Tara—and an unhappy one， for he was forbidden to chunk the fowls and could only flap the towel at them and shoo them.
Ellen set dozens of little black boys to this task， the first position of responsibility a male slave had at Tara. After they had passed their tenth year， they were sent to old Daddy the plantation cobbler to learn his trade， or to Amos the wheelwright and carpenter， or Phillip the cow man， or Cuffee the mule boy.If they showed no aptitude for any of these trades， they became field hands and， in the opinion of the negroes， they had lost their claim to any social standing at all.
Ellen's life was not easy， nor was it happy， but she did not expect life to be easy， and， if it was not happy， that was woman's lot. It was a man's world， and she accepted it as such.The man owned the property， and the woman managed it.The man took the credit for the management， and the woman praised his cleverness.The man roared like a bull when a splinter was in his finger， and the woman muffled the moans of childbirth， lest she disturb him.Men were rough of speech and often drunk.Women ignored the lapses of speech and put the drunkards to bed without bitter words.Men were rude and outspoken， women were always kind， gracious and forgiving.
She had been reared in the tradition of great ladies， which had taught her how to carry her burden and still retain her charm， and she intended that her three daughters should be great ladies also. With her younger daughters， she had success， for Suellen was so anxious to be attractive she lent an attentive and obedient ear to her mother's teaching， and Carreen was shy and easily led.But Scarlett， child of Gerald， found the road to ladyhood hard.
To Mammy's indignation， her preferred playmates were not her demure sisters or the well-brought-up Wilkes girls but the negro children on the plantation and the boys of the neighborhood， and she could climb a tree or throw a rock as well as any of them. Mammy was greatly perturbed that Ellen's daughter should display such traits and frequently adjured her to“ack lak a lil lady.”But Ellen took a more tolerant and long-sighted view of the matter.She knew that from childhood playmates grew beaux in later years， and the first duty of a girl was to get married.She told herself that the child was merely full of life and there was still time in which to teach her the arts and graces of being attractive to men.