West Point Colors

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The lions, if they left not the forest, would capture no prey; and the arrow, if it quitted not the bow, would not strike the mark.

—Arabian Nights.

The precise date of my story does not matter: the world strikes a much more even average than we are apt to think; and still, as of old, "the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done."

Once upon a time, then, there was a boy whose name was Charlemagne Kindred.

"Magnus" was the home version. I think his two young sisters were perhaps rather proud of the royal-republican title, and would by no means let it come down to "Charley," and so lose itself in the crowd. Once in a while, when a longer lecture than usual was called for, Mrs. Kindred would say Charlemagne: but I doubt if it had much effect, unless to give Magnus some slighting thoughts of the ancestor who had first borne his name.

Mrs. Kindred was a widow of ten years' standing; and she and Magnus, and the two young sisters, made up the family. There is nothing on earth sweeter than girls can be; and these two filled out the fair pattern, with few breaks or flaws. But no history or inheritance of even a name had been wasted on them, and they set out in life as plain Rose and Violet, named for their father's favourite flowers.

Magnus had not at all, however, the same reverence for his sisters that they felt for him, which was a pity; for really I think they deserved it better.

But another drawback to the perfections of my hero,—a common one enough with heroes, and which after all proved him the real thing,—he had not five cents to his name. And failing this, the question came up very naturally, what else he could have "to his name," to make that worth the carrying.

"Mamma, he'd make a beautiful minister!" said Rose, who, enshrined in the very rosiest corner of her heart, had a faint, far-away picture of her father in the pulpit.

"He would make a beautiful anything," said the mother, her eyes shining at the mere thought of her boy. "But he cannot be a minister, Rose, at least not in his father's church, without going to college."

"And that takes money," said Violet. "Mamma, if I were Uncle Sam, I'd have free colleges. I can't see why not, just as well as free schools."

"I do not like to hear you say 'Uncle Sam,' Violet. It is not respectful to the Government."

"Magnus does."

Mrs. Kindred might have answered that the bump of reverence was not as yet developed in that young magnate's head to any alarming degree, but no such disloyal words came out. She sat thinking.

"The Government has one free college, you know, girls," she said; "at least, I suppose it may be called that. Two, in fact: the Naval Academy at Annapolis, and the Military Academy at West Point. I wonder it never occurred to me before."

"West Point!" exclaimed both the girls, open-eyed.

"Then he'd be a soldier, and wear a uniform," said Violet.

"Yes, and then there would be a war, and he would get killed," said Rose.

"No, he wouldn't," said Violet. "Catch Magnus letting anybody shoot him. He's a good deal too quick for that. Besides, people can get killed anywhere. Missionaries do, sometimes."

"I wonder I never thought of West Point," Mrs. Kindred repeated. "Hush, girls; don't say such things. There is no war now, and maybe there never will be again. Magnus would like it, too."

"He'd be splendid in uniform," said Rose, "he's so tall."

"Too tall," said the mother with a sigh. "Magnus grows altogether too fast. Perhaps West Point would be just the thing for him, and make him spread out a little. You know, girls, what big fellows some of those army men are, in papa's book of officers?"

"Yes," said Violet doubtfully, "big enough. But then Magnus never could be as broad as he is long, so we needn't worry."

A cheery whistle, strong and sweet and clear, pierced through the summer air outside; and with one consent the three talkers hurried to the window to look out. It was a back window, commanding easily a woodshed, a small garden, and a barn.

In the woodshed, hard at work upon a somewhat elaborate dog-house, stood the young future victim of mathematics and wave motion. Coat off, hat tossed down, hands busily chiselling out some bit of ornamentation; the head with its shock of brown curls bent low over his work. And very appropriately just then, for the thoughts that filled the air, Magnus was whistling "Yankee Doodle": his limber young tones going with great force and discernment into all the ups and downs of that delightful old melody. Do not mistake me and think the words ironical; I am extremely fond of "Yankee Doodle," myself.

"How queer he should be whistling that!" said Rose. "Oh, Magnus!"

"Hello!"

"Come up here. We were just talking about you."

"Talk away."

"But mother and all!"

"Good I am down here, then," said the boy, eyeing a bit of board along the edge to see if it was straight.

"Why?" cried Violet.

"You know she doesn't like to praise me to my face," said Magnus, carefully planing the aforesaid edge.

"Conceited boy!" said Rose.

Well, I suppose he was that, just a little; but what can happen to average masculine nature, with three such bits of the feminine to stand round and gaze at its perfections? Magnus brought his board to a nicety of straightness, tossed off the shavings, gave another toss to his brown hair—then looked up at the sweet cluster of faces in the window and laughed.

"All's safe up there, so long as I stay down here," he said.

The three were silent.

"He is such a beauty!" said Rose under her breath. "He grows better and handsomer every day."

"But we want to talk to you!" said Violet.

"I can wait."

"Suppose we cannot?"

"Front door's open," said Magnus, falling to work with his hammer, and once more lapsing into the sweets of "Yankee Doodle."

"Mother, may we tell him?" said Rose. "May we ask him how he'd like it?"

"Why, yes, dear; that can do no harm," said Mrs. Kindred.

So the girls went down to the woodshed, perching themselves on some hard places each side of their big brother.

"Magnus, how would you like to be a soldier?"

"When there's a war, you'll see."

That was beginning at the wrong end; the two young faces grew suddenly grave. But, after all, there was no war then, and probably never would be, as their mother had said.

"But we mean now," Rose went on. "How would you like to go to West Point?"

"What for?"

"Why, to learn to be a soldier!" said Violet impressively.

Magnus laughed in high derision.

"Soldiers!" he said—"Popinjays. Parrots and popinjays. There was one of those fellows at Clear Spring last summer, and he had airs enough to fly a kite with a tail a mile long."

Again the two young sisters were silent.

"But you would not, Magnus, when you came home," said Violet. "Oh, Rose! just think of his coming home on vacation!"

"And if all the rest are like that, you could be what mamma calls a 'beautiful example,'" said Rose. "I heard Cherry speak of that 'fellow,' as you call him. She said his uniform was very interesting."

"Cherry doesn't care a copper for such stuff!" said Magnus hotly.

"I suppose she can admire a uniform," said Rose.

But to that Magnus made no reply.

The nightingale flew away, and time flew also.

—Hans Andersen.

Charlemagne got his appointment. In a very commonplace way, after all, like most other boys; in spite of his long name and his longer list of qualifications. Some relative knew the Congressman of the district, had done business with him in the pre-official days, and in one of the intervals of home rest after Washington fatigues, young Kindred was taken over to the dignitary's whereabouts, and presented as one who was eager to serve his country in another line. There was nothing heroic about the whole proceeding, and the man was not an ideal Congressman; but he answered the purpose.

The interview would have made a fine subject for a picture. The boy, on his dignity every inch of him, making believe that he did not care a continental about the matter; but too unskilled in dissembling to prove the fact, and keep down the quick flashes of eye and flushes of cheek. The introducer, the childless uncle to whom his sister's son was the one boy of all the world. Opposite them the old Congressman, with chair at an uncertain angle and hat ditto; tilting back in the cool shady porch, and listening with a scarce hid smile to the tale of Charlemagne's attainments.

"Has he room in his head for anything more?" he demanded, when Mr. Thorn paused. "He'll want a little, over there."

"I am ready to learn all they teach, sir!" said young Magnus, firing up. "You think I don't know anything now—and maybe I don't."

"Maybe—" said the Congressman drily. "How about the outside of your head? You'll get it rough and ready, at West Point."

"I've got hands!" said Magnus with another flush.

"True," said the Honourable Miles Ironwood. "Well, take good care of them."

"And I have understood," put in Mr. Thorn, "that hazing is quite stamped out at West Point."

Mr. Ironwood skilfully rocked his chair upon its two hind legs, a mocking smile upon his lips.

"Ever see a bit of woodland that was half trees and two-thirds rocks?" he said.

"I was brought up on just such a place," said Mr. Thorn.

"Ever fight a fire there?"

"Many a time."

"H'm—I thought perhaps you hadn't," said the Congressman. "Well, Mr. Thorn, this district is not represented at West Point just now; last appointment resigned some months ago, and I suppose it had better be filled. And this young man doesn't look as if he would give the Tacs more trouble than common. And if they go for him, that is his lookout and not mine."

"Who are the Tacs, sir?" inquired Magnus.

"Men who come round every morning to see if you have washed your face," said Mr. Ironwood, without moving a muscle of his own. "And every night, to tuck you up and bring away the light."

Magnus coloured indignantly; but a certain twinkle in Mr. Ironwood's eye kept him silent.

"What do they teach there, chiefly?" said Mr. Thorn. "What had Magnus better learn before he goes?"

"Learn everything you can, when you are going anywhere," said Mr. Ironwood impressively. "They teach riding—a little—at West Point. And mathematics—some."

"Charlemagne can ride," said his uncle proudly.

"On his head?"

"Why no!" said Mr. Thorn. "Will that be required?"

"I've seen 'em on their heads, in that riding-hall," said the Congressman with an easy change of position.

"They teach the classics, of course?"

"He'll hear something about Achilles, like as not," said Mr. Ironwood. "Hector, too. Not so much of either as he will of Charlemagne."

Again the suggestive gleam of the eye acted upon the boy as both spur and check.

"And you have no general advice to give him, Mr. Ironwood, as to what he had best do to prepare himself?"

"Prepare himself?" Mr. Ironwood brought his chair down on all-fours with considerable force. "If that boy wants to get ready for West Point, let him do every blessed thing he don't want to do and not one that he does, between now and next June. Good-morning: I'll attend to it."

"He's an old buzzard!" said Magnus as they walked away.

"A little sudden, sometimes," said his mild uncle. "But he's a smart man—a very smart man. And now I think of it, he was there once himself, and didn't get through. That's what makes him so down on the place."

"Must have been a very smart man if he couldn't get through West Point," Magnus said, with a boy's easy contempt.

But smart or not, Mr. Ironwood was as good as his word. And so in due course it was set forth in the Army and Navy Journal, that among the candidates for the Military Academy the following June would be found one Charlemagne Kindred. And the local paper of Barren Heights (albeit not generally concerning itself with West Point) got hold of the item and copied it out in full. And so astonishing was it to see Charlemagne's name in print that the family copy of said paper would have been quite worn out with much study and handling, if Mrs. Kindred had not rescued it, and laid it safe away among the family archives.

As for Cherry, after first privately breaking her heart because Magnus was going away, she then plucked up courage and common sense, and became the proudest little maiden that could be found among all the patient readers of the Barren Heights View.

It is safe to say that Magnus reversed Mr. Ironwood's wise counsel at every point and every time. Having himself been a failure at West Point, the Congressman's opinion was counted a failure too; would have been, anyhow, I fancy; and Charlemagne Kindred got ready for West Point by doing every possible thing he wanted to do, and letting the things he did not want to do, alone. Even when the rainy days of May went weeping by, and the fateful June was close at hand, what that boy did—and was allowed to do—would not bear telling. "He is going away," hushed every reproof; and "when I am gone," forestalled criticism. Refuse him? scold him?—the three gentle hearts at home were quite beyond all that.

To be sure, he ought to have studied hard, the whole time; but then Magnus was so quick and bright it could not be really needful. And if Mrs. Kindred now and then sighed, and wondered what the end would be, if the beginning was so lawless, and what her husband the minister would have said to his only son becoming a soldier—the girls had the answer ready.

"Why mother, it is to defend the Country! My father went to the war once, himself."

"Yes, in time of need," said Mrs. Kindred.

"But Magnus says that when there is no danger is the time to prepare," said Rose.

"Yes," Mrs. Kindred said again with a smile and a sigh, pleased at such wisdom in her boy; although it was a principle of sound business which Magnus had never been known to act upon, in any one single case.

But even he sobered down a little, as the last home day drew on. When the new trunk was packed, and Magnus had said good-bye to all the neighbourhood, and taken his last walk with Cherry; cheering up her forebodings in various efficacious ways best known to himself and to her; when there was nothing left but the good-night, and the early breakfast, and the parting—then, indeed, things began to look serious, and the boy too.

He sat that evening, taking the clearest sort of mental photographs. He saw the grief that lay back of his mother's brave words and tender smiles: saw it, as it were, on that other background of the older and deeper sorrow which never left her face. He noticed the white lines that marked the brown hair above her temples. He studied her hands: slender, white, but with that unmistakable character of use and usefulness which some hands have.

He looked at his sisters: fair, innocent slips of girls as you could find, East or West: their tears coming and going, their smiles playing hide and seek. Who ever had three such blessed bits of womankind entrusted to him? and who would take care of them when he, tall Charlemagne Kindred, should be far away? Magnus registered in his heart some vows that night, which to his honour he kept.

Then his eyes went down again to his mother's hands. They were quietly folded in her lap; but as Magnus looked, he seemed to see them busy in a hundred different ways, and always for him. Steadying his baby steps, cooling his aching head; binding up scratches and cuts; sewing on buttons, knitting socks, mending gloves. Now laid tenderly on his shoulder in some time of persuasion or entreaty—and now held out, both of them, to receive the penitent.

But here Magnus jumped up and fled away, out of the room, out of the house; and poured forth his agony of tears in the old orchard, under the quiet stars.

At his age, however, such showers are brief, and often end in a highly exalted state of mind. Magnus came back to the house protector of his mother, defender of his sisters, and knight-errant for all womankind in general—especially Cherry.

Cherry would have given what coppers she had in the world, and some silver to boot, to spend that last evening and morning at the Kindred house, and the girls had entreated her to stay, but she was a very self-contained little damsel and said no. "Little" is not descriptive, however, for Cherry was growing up tall and straight as a plumed reed by the river side; with a wealth of dark brown hair, and large serious eyes, and delicate brows that, when they laughed, went into curves as lovely and mischievous as the proverbial bow of Cupid. The whole of the demure face laughed then, with dimples here and dimples there.

Brought up until six years old with a frail, invalid mother, and since then by a student father, the child had early learned to keep herself to herself with severe decision. And keep herself hid according to her own ideas, Cherry feared she could not, if she was at hand to see Magnus Kindred go. Besides—Magnus himself had not asked her!

"But why will you not stay, Cherry?" the girls persisted.

"It does not matter why, you know, so long as I am going," said wise Cherry, and so she put on her sun-bonnet, and went back with steady steps toward her own gate, so soon as tea was over. To be sure, Magnus did see her and come bounding after; and, to be sure, she found out then that she was not really in such haste as she had thought: but still Magnus would never have got the sort of farewell he did, if he had not been saucy and taken it. Though, alas! I am afraid his after-memory of the parting was for a time less tender and true than hers.

So there were only the three home faces about the boy that last morning, and only the three sore hearts to plan and prepare his breakfast and every other possible sort of ministration. And magnate as he was, Charlemagne found those three as much as he could bear.

I do not see why the march of improvement should tread down sentiment and tread out romance; but such seems to be the fact. Beauty and feeling, like very birds of the wildwood, take wing and flee at the shriek of the steam-whistle. Your public conveyance is no longer a kindly, easy-going personality, the "Highflyer" or the "Dashaway" mail-coach; it is only the 6.30 train. You could turn and wave a good-bye, in the olden time; gazing back at the dear home outlines until, in the pathetic words of David Copperfield, "the sky was empty." But now, even if the railway does not graze your front dooryard, and you must walk or drive to the station, yet you hardly dare glance round you as you go, lest you should miss the train. For that distant dark line with its trail of silver smoke, which comes snaking along across the country, makes no account of you as an individual, and is equally ready to run you down or to pick you up; and will sooner do either than wait.

Magnus was to report at West Point on a certain specified day, and his setting out had been timed accordingly: and now the terror of being late, and so belated, was upon them all. They hurried him off after the five-o'clock breakfast; kissing him, crying over him indeed, but pushing him out of the house. And Mrs. Kindred would not go with him to the station nor let the girls; Magnus could walk so much faster alone, or even run, if need be; and they might make him loiter.

So the boy went forth alone; turning round at the last corner, and waving his hat with an air of triumph which was very make-believe indeed. His heart was as heavy as lead, and he called himself the greatest ninny in existence; leaving such a home, and such a mother, and three such girls. For in that last look back Magnus had not failed to see the curling smoke that floated away from the chimney of Cherry's house, high up upon the hill. What a silly he was, sure enough. Why, the mere old lilac bushes in the dooryard were better than all West Point. Nevertheless, he went on—

"For men must work and women must weep."

Happily for the women, their life is generally more real and prosaic than the poet thought; and they also have to work on, through their tears.

The train came rushing up on time; Magnus swung himself in; and with a derisive snort the locomotive tore him away from home, and mother, and the three girls.

As a rule, the inmates of a railway car are extremely unsympathetic to look at. What face or figure do you ever see there to which you would like to appeal in case of need? When the need comes, indeed, there is generally someone to take it up, a comforting thought, worth remembering; but for the most part people hold themselves visibly aloof, except in the way of growling over open windows, or of striving for seats.

Charlemagne Kindred looked up and down the car, scanning briefly the faces as he took his seat; and the width of the world, and its exceeding low temperature, settled down upon his heart as a new fact.

The first day and the first night went by wearily enough. Magnus had decided to save money by not taking a sleeper; assuring his anxious mother and sisters that he could sleep anyhow and anywhere. And so he could, at home, as they well knew. But it seemed to him in that long first night, as if the boards of their barn floor at home were softer (as they were certainly far sweeter) than all the cushions of the night express. What fumes the men brought in from the smoking car! What gruff voices and hollow laughs and idle words were all about him. Disgust, fatigue, and strangeness took the boy in their hard hands, until, as the second night drew on, Magnus did not know himself. He wondered what was the matter with him: wondered if he was going to be ill: and never guessed for a while that he was growing deathly, deadly homesick.

The knowledge came. Just at nightfall the train slowed up at a little country station, and a woman and child got out. They had been sitting far behind Magnus, and, as the child never cried, she had called forth no special notice; though once or twice when the rush and roar ceased for a moment, Magnus had caught the sweet canary-bird notes of the little voice. Now, she passed him in her mother's arms; and in the moment's pause at the door, the little creature turned and looked down the dingy car, where what light there was seemed just to show up the darkness. The sweet, serious eyes gazed along the lines of her late fellow-passengers—then as the way opened, and the mother moved on, the child waved her little innocent hand in farewell greeting to that small, unknown world.

"Dood-night, folks!" she said—and was gone.

I can fancy that many hearts stirred at the sound; but poor Magnus quite gave way. Oh, for one word from the dear home voices, one touch of the dear home hands. He remembered Violet, when she was no bigger than that little thing, nestled in her mother's arms just so. What was he doing here, away from them all? What was West Point to him? If indeed he ever got there. Magnus felt now as if he should die by the way.

He was alone in the seat just then; and the boy pulled his hat down over his eyes, leaned head and arms against the dingy red cushion, and let the tears come. The train ran on, past several other small stations; then drew up before a ten-minutes-for-refreshment place, where to many people the minutes and the refreshment would be equally brief and unsatisfactory. Yet the glow and light and counter full of viands looked tempting enough to a weary passenger; and many got out. Magnus never stirred. He was not hungry, naturally enough; and besides had some of the home sandwiches and cookies still in his bag. But touch them—look at them even—in his present mood, he could not.

The car was almost empty: and in the relief of the sudden stillness and space, Magnus got up and walked to and fro between the open doors. It was a comfort to do anything, and the ten minutes were far too short for him as for the rest. He dropped into his seat again, as the passengers came hurrying back; watching them with languid interest, and wondering which one would come and sit by him. Last night he had had a man so redolent of unpleasant things that only a very tired boy could have managed to sleep at all. Last night, and part of to-day. A somewhat different set were coming in now; new faces taking the place of others left behind at the station.

Magnus eyed them one by one, desiring none of them in his seat, and only hoping they would leave it and him alone, until just as the train began to pull out of the station. There came in then a man of a different type of citizenship. Of good height and sturdy build; close shaven, close cropped: a dress and outfit scrupulously neat and in order, but evidently bought at the shop of Comfort and Use, and not from that tailor to all the crowned heads, High Style. Over the whole man was that look of absolute cleanness—mental, moral, and physical—which a smooth face always sets off to the best advantage. Step firm and businesslike, eyes quick and kind. A man "at leisure from himself," for all the work his Master might set before him. Was there, perhaps, work here?

The car had thinned out a good deal by this time; people dropping off at one and another station, getting to their homes as the night drew on, and there were many vacant seats: here two together, and there one by somebody else. Mr. Wayne paused a moment, looking down the car, and from under his straw hat Magnus watched him, with a vague longing that he would come and sit by him.

That is a wonderfully lovely glimpse of unseen things, in one of the chapters of the book of Daniel, where one angel says to another, "Run, speak to that young man." I suppose Mr. Wayne was conscious of no audible monition; but after that moment's pause, he stepped down the car, past one and another tempting "whole" seat, and took his place by young Charlemagne Kindred.

The man that wants me is the man I want.

—Dr. Edward Payson.

"This seat is not engaged? You are not expecting a companion?" the stranger said as he sat down.

"No, sir, I have nobody to expect," said Magnus, his tone making the answer broader than the question.

"Nobody to expect?" Mr. Wayne repeated the words, then went on softly to himself, yet just so that Magnus caught the sound, "'My soul, wait thou upon God, for my expectation is from him.'"

"Where does this train stop for supper?" he said abruptly, after a minute or two.

"They had supper at Beaver Junction."

"So, so! Just where I got in. Have you had yours?"

"No, sir. I didn't want any."

"Well, you and I wear our family likeness with a difference," said Mr. Wayne. "I have had no supper either, but I want it. They used to stop at Edenton. Been a change, I suppose, since the extension of the road."

He rose up and went to the further end of the car, where the conductor was taking a minute's rest; coming back with the word that another chance for refreshments would be at Centerville Junction, where they had to wait for the train from Combination.

"Then you and I will go and sup together," he said.

"I don't want any supper," the boy repeated.

"What's the matter? You're not sick?" and the keen eyes made a closer survey.

"No, indeed, sir."

"The home station is close at hand, then, is it?"

"No, sir. It will not be near me for two years," said Magnus, trying to speak with the proper pride of a young man off on his travels, and far from home, but the boyish voice betraying itself and him.

"Two years!" Mr. Wayne repeated; adding with a breath that was almost a groan, "Two years out of sight of home! You are going to West Point?" he said the next minute in his quick way.

"Yes, sir. But how did you know?" said the boy, rousing up in his surprise.

"Yankees aren't worth a red cent if they can't guess," said Mr. Wayne, smiling. "Well, that settles the question of supper. If you get to West Point in a die-away condition, they'll not take you in; and you will see the home station quicker than you care about, maybe. The first thing they'll tell you at West Point will be to 'brace up,' so you'd better do a little at it before you get there."

If Magnus was half ready to resent the words he could not, for the merry glance that went with them.

"Were you ever at West Point, sir?"

"Often."

"Well, what sort of a place is it?" said Magnus, sitting straight up in his interest.

"One of the very loveliest places on this fair earth," said Mr. Wayne. "With hills and woods and river that you will lose your heart to, and never get it back."

"Nice people, too?" questioned Magnus.

"All sorts of people. As in every other bit of the world. All sorts."

"There is only one sort at home," said Magnus proudly.

"Ah, true! But home is the only exception. And so,

"But even in the home neighbourhood, I think, you can remember varieties?"

"Yes, indeed," said Magnus, smiling. "Chaff Pointer said it was waste time for me to go to West Point, for he knew I'd never get through."

"Well, I'd prove that man a false prophet, if he does belong near home," said Mr. Wayne. "How did 'Chaff' get his name?"

"All the rest of the family are sound and good for something, and so everybody calls him 'Chaff,'" said Magnus.

Mr. Wayne laughed heartily. "All sorts there, too," he said. "But here is our ten-minute station. Come along. I invite you to be my guest, and when you are invited out to supper, you must go when you don't want to go, and eat when you are not hungry."

And Magnus laughed and followed. But to hurry into that brilliantly lighted room after a cheerful companion, and to eat all sorts of queer railway providings at railway speed, was a very different thing from munching his dry sandwich alone in the dusky car, and all the time seeing nothing but the dear fingers that put it up. Appetite came back, and spirits, with somewhat of the joyous sense of enterprise and novelty; confidence and liking for his new friend sprang up into life-size proportions, and it did not take long to tell over the whole little home story. It was such a comfort to speak to somebody.

And Mr. Wayne listened with deepest interest. He had meant to take a sleeper as soon as they left the Junction, but changed his purpose, and sat by the boy through all the hours of the night. Ready for words when Magnus roused up to speak them; and when the young eyes closed, and the young head sought intervals of rest against the hard, swaying back of the seat, then studying the boy with a face from which the laugh had vanished, and a grave, almost solemn, look came up to take its place.

"Good blood," so he muttered to himself, as he noted the clear skin and pure colour, "and well brought up"—for unmistakable lines of truth and intelligence marked the face. "Warm-hearted—almost—as a woman, and wilful enough for two! What will he do at West Point? and what will West Point do to him?"

The grave eyes were shielded, and from the kindly heart went up that longing petition of the Lord himself:

"I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil."

So the night wore on, with alternate snatches of talk and sleep, until the early dawn of the June day came swiftly up over the outside world.

"To-night I shall be at West Point," said Magnus, as the two new-made friends went back to their car after breakfast.

"Ordered to report to-day?"

"No, sir, not until Friday."

"Where will you stay to-night?"

"Oh, I cannot tell," said Magnus. "I don't know anybody nor anything at West Point. Oh, I suppose I'll find some place!"

"'Some place' is not always a good place. You had better stay in town with me to-night, and take an early morning train up river."

"Do you live in town, sir?"

"Not I! But I shall be there to-night."

Hotels and hotel bills were as yet unknown things to Magnus Kindred, and he entered into this plan with great alacrity; nor ever guessed, till he went home on furlough and put up at the same hotel, how large a part of his fare that night was paid by Mr. Wayne himself.

It was very late when the train ran into the big city, at least according to the standard at Barren Heights, but those weird old hands on the church steeples of New York count nothing "late" until it is two o'clock in the morning, and so in truth early once more.

Magnus felt quite sure that the rumble and roar would not let him sleep a wink, but after he had once closed his eyes, they never opened again until broad daylight.

The two friends roomed together. A big room, it seemed to Magnus, the two sides of which had each quite a retired privacy of its own. Mr. Wayne, writing letters under the gaslight, noted the boy's neat, orderly ways in all his preparations for bed. Magnus had sat reading his own private chapter first, not with haste, but with interest, and then they had had prayers together. Now, the boy knelt quietly by his own special bed, his face upon his arms, and once or twice there came a sound that brought the quick drops to Mr. Wayne's own eyes. But then Magnus called out his "Good-night, sir!" in a cheerful, resolved tone, which was all that could be wished.

In the morning the two walked up to the Grand Central together. There their ways parted, Mr. Wayne going off on the New Haven road, while Magnus checked his trunk for Garrisons and West Point.

"Magnus, what is going to be your dependence at West Point?" said Mr. Wayne, as they stepped along.

"Hard work, sir."

"Good," said Mr. Wayne. "And what for your hard work? How do you expect to keep yourself at it?"

"My own will, sir."

"Good again," said his friend. "And how is that will to be kept to its duty?"

"Mother says I'm self-willed enough for anything," said Magnus.

"Truly. But self-will and will-power are very different forces, and often come in sharp collision. Misguided steam is quite likely to blow up the whole concern."

"Well, sir, what can I do with my will but use it?" said the boy with some quickness.

"You can abuse it quite easily," said Mr. Wayne. "Turn it on the wrong things, fire it up in the wrong place. A soldier needs to have the 'governor' of his own private engine in excellent working order."

"I'm not a soldier yet," said Magnus, laughing, "and shall not be for four years."

"You will be one, to all intents, as soon as you are admitted at West Point. From that moment you are counted in the service of the United States, and under her orders. Bound to do her bidding, whether you like it or not, whether you understand it or not."

"Even if someone has blundered?" said Magnus with a half laugh.

"Even if someone has blundered. With that question you have nothing to do. Men will blunder now and then, at West Point as elsewhere, but that is no concern of yours. Uncle Sam's orders are to be obeyed, and neither the quality nor the quantity of them affects the thing in the least."

"That sounds hard," said Magnus.

"It is hard."

"And rather impossible to carry out, I should say," remarked Magnus with a boy's air of competent criticism.

"Nothing is impossible which ought to be done," said Mr. Wayne. "If the authorities at West Point did not disapprove of decorations, I would have that written up over your door in gilt letters."

"Disapprove!" Magnus repeated.

"Disapprove. A soldier's life has small time and place but for the absolute needs-be."

"Did you ever go through West Point, sir?" said Magnus with a wondering look at his new-found friend.

"No indeed. But I have been through Chattanooga, and Fair Oaks, and a few other places, and so I know what all this play-soldiering may come to."

Magnus stopped short and gazed at him.

"Chattanooga! Fair Oaks! You have been there?" he said.

"Why, yes," said Mr. Wayne, pulling him round again, "and I'm glad I am not there now. Come on; we must catch our train. Never mind all that to-day. So you thought you would be your own master till you got shoulder-straps, hey? Not a bit of it. You belong to Uncle Sam just as much in grey as you ever will in blue."

"Body and soul!" said Magnus with a rather unmirthful laugh.

"Not soul," said Mr. Wayne. "The only power that traffics in souls is the devil, and his vice-gerent the World. But about everything else, from the minute you enter West Point, you are under orders—sworn in to obey. How are you going to bring yourself up to that point?"

"Why, I have always been taught to obey, at home," said Magnus.

"Yes, and when you didn't do it, it was always, 'Oh, Magnus must have forgotten. He never means to disobey.'"

"How do you know, sir?" said the boy, laughing and colouring, too.

"I have had a mother," said Mr. Wayne. "And if there is anything on this earth at the antipodes of the being that owns that blessed name, it is a West Point tactical officer."

"Who is he?" said Magnus.

"The tactical officer? Oh, he is one of a small force in blue, specially detailed to look after the cadets in grey."

"They must be the ones that our Congressman says come round to see if you've washed your face," said Magnus. "They'd better not try that on me!"

Mr. Wayne laughed a little.

"Well, I'd be ready for them," he said. "Fighting for rights that you haven't got does not pay at West Point."

"Why, what sort of a queer place is it?" said young Charlemagne with growing distaste.

"It is a place where you are under orders," said Mr. Wayne, "and that often makes wild work with one's own private notions. You swear to obey orders when you go in, and you are under them till you come out. From the time you get up till the time you go to bed,—and after."

"Not while I am asleep, I suppose," said the boy with an expressive lift of the brows.

"Yes you are. If you fail to hear the reveille gun, your being asleep will not excuse you. It is your business to wake up. Nobody will come round and tap softly at your door and say, 'Now, Magnus, dear, if you are not too tired, I think you had better get up.'"

It was so exactly what his mother had said but four days ago that the boy's eyes flushed, and his throat choked up.

"What will they do to me?" he said, making a brave fight for his self-control, "if I do not hear the gun?"

"Oh, you will figure in the report as a 'late,' or an 'absent,' with corresponding small penalties, that is all. Nothing very terrible if it comes but once, but piling up trouble if it comes often."

"They might call a fellow," said Magnus, who never liked to do that kind office for himself.

"Armies are seldom large enough for each man to have another man detailed to look after him," said Mr. Wayne drily.

Magnus made no answer. He paced up and down the long station house by his friend's side, swinging his little handbag with an air that was not all of enjoyment.

"It's a hard place, then, isn't it?"

"There are no easy places in this world, so far as I know," answered Mr. Wayne. "Not for men who wish to get on. There are a few where you can stand still. West Point is not one of those. Back or forward you must go, there. But there is no hardest place on earth that 'work and pray' will not carry a man gloriously through."

"Well, mother has taught me the one, and I guess I'll soon pick up the other," said Magnus. "I'm not afraid of work, if I am rather lazy."

"Magnus," said his friend suddenly, "when you get to West Point I want you to make friends with the flag."

"All right," said the boy, laughing. "Do they fly the flag all the time? That is glorious!"

"They fly it all the time, in all weathers; from the small storm flag in a gale, to the bunting thirty-six feet long, on a holiday. What would you think, if they hauled the flag down every time someone came by who did not like it?"

"I should say, 'Shoot the man who touched the halyards'!" said Magnus.

"Suppose the passerby was from a powerful nation that we feared to offend?"

"There is no such nation!" said the boy, drawing himself up.

"But Young America can suppose, for the argument's sake," said Mr. Wayne, smiling.

"Hard thing to do, sir," laughed Magnus. "However, I'll suppose, as you say. And I say, the man would come down, a long sight ahead of the Stars and Stripes. I'd risk offending anybody, for the flag."

Mr. Wayne paused and faced him.

"Magnus," he said, "I have just three words for you at West Point. Work, pray, and keep your colours flying! Good-bye; the doors are open."

So they parted, and soon the cry was, "All aboard!" and the train moved slowly out of the Grand Central.

Magnus strolled leisurely along, thinking first that he could show these cadets how to run, and then beginning to have grave doubts on the subject; and finally finding himself a seat under the trees, where he could look and listen in shady comfort. Eyes and ears had full occupation.

There was a busy note of preparation everywhere, and especially among the drums. Beating there, and then beating here; the sound caught up and echoed back from the grey rocks on the green hillside. Then came out uniforms of various sorts (Magnus personified the dress, not knowing the men) and proceeded to mark off a certain space on the green in front of him, setting a gay little banner at the four corners of a large, large square.

Then, at first slowly, but soon hurrying up from every point of the compass, a many-coloured crowd swarmed in and filled the seats—filled them presently so full that Magnus gave up his place to the next gauzy creature that came along. She fluttered down into the seat with much gratulation and no thanks, and Magnus gravely took his stand in the rear.

He had no lack of company, even there. Officers in various uniforms, civilians in all sorts of coats, and girls in all sorts of finery, stood beside and around him.

And now, also, there came straying in another small posse, whom Magnus instinctively knew as of his own kind. Yes, they must be candidates; partly, perhaps, because they could not possibly be anything else; no other class owned them. Yet how did he know that?—to whom all classes here were strange. What possible connection between that dapper little fellow in straw hat and black alpaca coat, and this young giant who wore a cloth cap and a fluttering linen duster? Or how was his next neighbour in a Derby and long frock coat like the fourth man, who wore brown trousers, a cutaway coat, and a wide-awake? Yet even Magnus could see that "candidate" was written on them all. So plainly, indeed, that he stepped further back and put himself behind the tree. Anybody who looked at him standing there—and some did look—saw a tall, well-made young fellow in a neat and perfectly unobtrusive suit of brown-grey cloth. Very dark hair and with a wilful curl that tossed it about every way. Excellent features, ignorant as yet of life's moulding touch; and a sweet, mobile mouth, set just now in very grave lines indeed, and so hiding one of the great charms of his face. For nobody could watch Magnus Kindred when he smiled or laughed, and not notice the clean look: the utterly pure and true lines into which those grave ones changed. For the rest, hands and feet were well shaped and in excellent order; and the whole bearing was both self-reliant and unconscious.

But it seemed as if the gayer grew the scene, the soberer grew that young face gazing out from behind the tree. For of all the lonely places, commend me to an unknown throng of pleasure-seekers, where everyone belongs to someone, is waiting for someone, or is waited for, and you belong to none. No eyes are watching for you, no heart stirs when you come in sight; and no one will miss you if you do not come at all.

So Magnus felt that day. The more people came, the more he was crowded almost from standing-room, the wider grew the heart distance between himself and the bright world about him. Gay girls, pretty girls, thronged the seats and the walk; Magnus only felt that none of them was Cherry, and every older woman that came by, decked in feathers and flowers and laces, sent his thoughts off with such a rush to his own dear mother, in her simplest go-to-meeting bonnet, that it was all the boy could do to stand there and give no sign. And at even the officers he looked askance, wondering which of them might possibly be "Tacs."

"Poor fellow!" said some of the kind hearts amid the finery. "He looks pretty homesick."

"Such a handsome boy, too. You must take him out in the German, Floy."

"Oh, he can't go to the German," said Miss Floy, who had reached the mature age of thirteen. "None of the plebs can. And he's only a candidate, yet. Besides, I don't care much for any man that doesn't wear chevrons."

And the mother laughed and repeated the smart saying to her next neighbour.

If there arose in the mind of Charlemagne Kindred an instant resolve to wear chevrons, at whatever cost, you must not think hardly of him. These pretty, airy creatures wield a powerful sceptre and their silken cords are strong.

How the people crowded in! They sat where they could, and stood where they shouldn't. They grouped themselves round the old trees, and made a strong background to the iron seats. Officers, civilians, matrons, girls—and candidates. Little children dropped down on the green edge of the parade ground, and at last grown-up and hard-pushed people sat there, too. Then an imposing police sergeant came along, waving them off with his black wand. And the people jumped up, growling and frowning, and, as soon as they saw his back, dropped down again.

As for Magnus, the whole thing seemed to wind him up in tightening cords of tension. He was outside now, but to-morrow at this time he would be in; caught and bound and caged behind a cordon of regulations. Assigned a place, turned over to duties which he could in no wise quit or change. Not to see home again for two long years.

Should he do it? Or should he, in these last hours of freedom, set himself free for good? Take the first train for the West, and leave all his great prospects behind him, and the chevrons and shoulder-straps to someone else? Thoughts came and went, surged and rolled back; and the whistle of each train, as it flew by, just made the confusion deeper. "Come!" they seemed to say. "Come-m-me-me!"

Meantime the review went on; the citizen actors showed how they could not march and the cadets how they could; and this last part was so fine that Magnus fairly forgot himself and his trouble. Round the great square they went; the grey and white lines moving like some one elastic thing. Corners made no break, hot sunbeams seemed unnoticed. So they marched round; first slow, then fast; and then began the double-timing.

How beautiful it was! Privates in their glancing lines; cadet officers leading on, and running backwards or forwards with equally unerring footsteps. Heading all, the Commandant. Years had passed away since he learned the double-quick; and the supple boy had changed into the grey-haired man; but his foot never faltered, his step never lagged. The white-plumed blue uniform led on the grey with a gallantry it was pretty to see. Magnus watched the whole with deepest admiration; down to the last bit of timeful running with no music to mark it off.

He was noticing every step; eyeing the black shoe-soles that came up as one, the bent-knee line of white trousers, the glitter of the guns; forgetting everything else, when again the hated word came full upon his ear.

"Just look at that candidate, will you! It's as good as a play. I wonder he didn't join in."

"Ya-as," was answered in a drawling tone by her escort. "There he stands. Study his perfections now, while you can, Miss Jenny. Next week he will have ceased to shine upon the polite world. Exit the candidate, enter the beast. That is, if he gets in, which is doubtful."

A small thing may do the work where a large one fails; trains got no hearing, after that. That he would enter became instantly a fixed fact to that particular candidate.

The girl was certainly pretty. How would Cherry look, sitting there, and with himself in a grey coat bending over her, and twirling her parasol? Cherry was handsomer—miles away—than this girl. Deeper eyes, tenderer mouth, more glowing cheeks, too, for that matter. Yet she would not look so, the boy honestly owned to himself, though fuming a little over the admission; the whole make-up would be different. The very idea of such shoes as this damsel thrust out into the sunlight had never entered Cherry's wholesome head. "Shoe pegs," Magnus called the heels, with great scorn, and set right in the middle of her foot. And scarlet stockings. And her dress—what was it made of? No, Cherry would not look so; and however he might frown, Magnus felt the glamour, as most men do, of city dressmaking and "the correct thing."

"Country-made gowns look so different," said someone behind him.

Then that girl further on, in fluffs of white lace and muslin, white shoes, white gloves, and her dainty head crowned with "an acre" of Leghorn, and "a half bushel" of roses. No, neither would Cherry look like her. And now the boy's fancy brought the little country maiden, in her country garb—even her Sunday best—and set her down beside these two. A plain white gown, with no setting off but the simple ruffles which Cherry had embroidered, and the exquisite laundry work which she had also done herself. Black shoes, which were made for walking ("but either one of those white ones could hold 'em both," thought Magnus, in his hot fancy). Then a broad straw hat, round which Violet's deft fingers had twined a dark green riband; while the hands, which were small, indeed, and comely, but unwhitened with either idleness or lemon, wore only a pair of spotless Lisle thread gloves.

Magnus looked at the pink, the white, the tan kids all about him, and drew a deep breath.

"But she shall sit there!" he said, with one of his fierce mental bursts. "She shall sit there, and look just so. No, not just so, for, if they try their prettiest, they can never any of them look like her."

If Cadet Magnus Kindred knew in a general sort of way that all the simple, loving women folk at home were praying for him morning, noon, and night, "and watching thereunto with all perseverance," it was with a very easy remembrance of the fact, and not the faintest idea that anything but pleasure touched the case. And he would have simply shouted at Rose's panic over the unexplained "B. J." In fact, if anybody knows the origin of those two cabalistic letters, Magnus certainly did not.

Indeed, he had scant time for running down questions. Drills began as soon as examination was over, and were pushed on "fiercely" (as Randolph declared), hot sun or no sun, rested or tired. Though Magnus had been used to such an active open-air life that all this came easier to him than to some others. As to the rest, he got along pretty well for a "pleb," having a certain sensible nature which made light of hardships, and was not quick to take offence. So when he was jeered and pointed at, chin poked in and toes pushed out, he rarely said anything stronger, even to himself, than, "Just you wait!" Good common sense everywhere befriended him, even when the drill masters abused their power, or first classmen showed their prowess by "jumping" plebs.

So he brought in water and cleaned guns; stood attention, and stood his ground; and when the time came for that amusement, "advanced ghosts" in the most correct terms, but kept his musket against all attempts of Cadet Devlin and his compeers. Nay, on one such occasion, he gave the marauder the most accurate measure of himself upon the ground that the young man had ever had. Of course Magnus was reported, but he gave too straight answers for the charge to stand, and the upshot was that Mr. Devlin lost his chevrons "for hazing plebs." The whole account caused great consternation at home, only lulled by the assurance Magnus gave that if he had let anyone take his gun, he himself might have been put in "light prison" or sent home in disgrace. For to the bewildered mind of a pleb in those early days, anything might happen.

Devlin swore vengeance, and in a small way carried it out. But young Kindred laughed off some things, ignored others, and now and then gave Mr. Devlin a blaze out of his honest eyes before which that gentleman rather shrivelled up. Nobody liked to exactly try to handle Charlemagne Kindred: there was about him "a look of unknown quantities"—as Mr. Upright remarked one day. Cadet Upright was a staunch friend; and it was a blessing to all the plebs in Camp Hard that year that he was head man over them.

"Come and clean my gun, Mr. Kindred," he would say, adding, when Magnus was in the tent, "The gun is not very dirty, and there is no hurry about it, but you must be doing something, and in here is better than out there."

A fact which Magnus realised when from the cool recesses of the tent he saw other plebs fetching water in the sun, or standing attention for a lecture from Mr. Devlin: teased and worried and laughed at by Mr. Prank.

It was during the fervid days of that July that Rig ("poor Rig," as Magnus generally termed him in the letters home) went through a small bit of experience which, by his own account, made him "a sadder, if not a wiser, man."

The morning was intensely hot. The plebs had been out at their early drill and now in the canvas shade were enjoying a few minutes' rest. Guard-mounting was just over, and for a brief space no one had anything special to do. The visitors' seats were nearly deserted, with only a few sentimentals from either side the colour-line still lounging there. The sentries paced up and down in full fatigue dress: the row of stacked arms shimmered in the heat.

In his tent Magnus was devouring over again the last night's letter from home, and so did not notice what was going on, until the shadow of Cadet Prank in the tent door made him look up in time to see Rig (alias McLean) start to his feet and stand very stiff indeed.

"Good-day, Mr. McLean," said the man with chevrons. "Don't disturb yourself, I'll not come in. I know you've been hard at it this morning, and I really hate to ask you to go out again,—but in such a case,"—and Mr. Prank gazed into the glowing sunshine in deep perplexity.

Magnus, watching from the depths of the tent, saw the gleam which no effort of Prank's could keep out of his eyes, with the dangerously solemn lines about the mouth. But poor Rig at such honeyed words from an upper classman, lost what little everyday perception belonged to him. "He's just got to learn for himself, though," thought Magnus, looking on with intense amusement.

Mr. Prank suddenly turned and glanced suspiciously down towards the listener; but Magnus was all quiet, behind his letter.

"You see, Mr. McLean," Prank went on, dropping his voice a little, "I want a man I can trust, to do me a small service. If you are not too much fatigued—it would not take long."

Visions of Mr. Prank for his bosom friend, and Camp Hard suddenly transformed into Elysium, floated before Rig's eyes.

"Yes, sir,—no, sir," he answered, gathering up the points.

"It is really but a minute's work," said Prank with another glance over Rig's head towards Magnus; "but a particular friend of mine has gone on guard without his gloves. Most absent-minded man alive! And if the Com. comes along, he's ruined. So I thought if you would just take them to him—you see I should have to report him. He's on post No. 6."

Mr. Prank held out a pair of immaculate white gloves. But now Rig drew back. To waylay a sentinel on his beat, was something so clearly beyond pleb limits that he took fright.

"Yes, sir," he began; "certainly, sir. But you know, sir, it's against orders, I believe——"

Mr. Prank drew himself up to all his inches.

"That will do," he said. "Of course, I don't know much about regulations and never heard the orders. Very kind of you to instruct me, I am sure; I shall not forget it! Sorry to have disturbed your toilette, Mr. McLean, but I thought such a trifle could not seriously put you out. Someone else, probably, will be kind enough—whose hair curls easier than yours."

And tucking the white gloves into the cadet pocket (his sleeve), Mr. Prank strode haughtily away.

Rig felt miserable. He did not see that Magnus in his dark corner was shaking from head to foot. But to lose his character for obligingness! With a bound he was after the retreating chevrons.

"Oh, Mr. Prank!" he said. "Of course I didn't mean that you didn't know, sir; and I have just thought of a way, if you think it will do. I can hang the gloves on one of the bayonets where the arms are stacked, you know, sir, and then he can get them for himself."

"The very thing!" said Prank, with a well-kept face. "I see you are bright, Mr. McLean, as well as obliging. Take the gloves, my dear fellow, and be quick. And count upon me hereafter."

With a swelling heart Rig stepped briskly up to the shining row of guns, where not an inch nor a line was out of the most spick-and-span state of military precision, and hung the white pendant on a glittering point of steel. And as he turned—alas! he was tapped on the shoulder and marched off to the guard tent "for tampering with the arms."

"I shouldn't have minded that so much," he said afterwards to Magnus, "if I hadn't been such a double-distilled fool. And I'm not a fool really, you know,—but I'm not 'a gem of purest ray serene,' either. And I just lost my head with being told I was."

Plenty of that sort of sport (to give it its common name) went on in Camp Hard, and even the most patient men grew tired of it, and the most good-natured got cross. It is monotonous when all the fun goes to somebody else. Even the straight shoulders sometimes rebelled against the perpetual bracing up; and many a poor fourth classman wished that his grey trousers had no side seam which could serve as a landmark to his weary thumbs: for in those days "finning out" was in full force.

But indeed it was sometimes hard to take even what the law allowed.

A strict order had been published that no cadet should ask a pleb to perform any menial service, but when Corporal Main remarked, "Mr. Stone, there are some very dusty shoes in my tent,"—no more was needed. Stone was just come in from drill, and ached in every inch; but he went at the shoes, and cleaned and rubbed and polished for dear life, while Corporal Main strolled off with Miss Flyaway, and told her the story.

Again, another humane order was read out one day in the Mess Hall, to the effect that in that place of supposed relaxation plebs need not "brace," but might sit and stand "at will." But the minute the reader's back was turned Cadet Prank drawled out:

"Boys, hadn't you all a great deal rather brace up?"

And so many hurriedly answered, "Yes, sir!" that the contrary noes were never counted.

That was the way of it; and by dint of being laughed at and pointed at; drilled, straightened, pulled into shape, and called "beasts," the fourth classmen began to feel as if in truth the name fitted. They huddled together in corners, talked in whispers, and told endless stories of home.

Marcus Antonius. Cæsar dear, is there no way this troubling my dear little plebeian sentinels can be stopped?
Cæsar. There probably is, but we have not found it yet.

Nor yet. And so, year by year, for a time, the new fourth classmen worked out pretty fairly Lowell's lines:

Magnus Kindred was speeding along through camp one morning, thinking of home, when he was hailed by an upper classman.

"See here, beast, what's your name?"

Magnus made answer, with what composure of face and voice he could call up at such short notice.

"Where did you come from?" And again the reply came with fair coolness.

"Got so few men out there, they give 'em long names to stretch out and cover the country. Who was your pred.?"

"Mr. Dunn, sir. He resigned, sir."

"Good example for you to follow in November," said Mr. Seaton, "but you've got to be taken care of in the mean time. Wipe that smile off, sir! What's your technical name?"

"Haven't got any, sir."

"Well, if anyone asks you that again, tell 'em it's Lorenzo Monkey," said Seaton, and walked away.

Magnus shook his fist at him (mentally), but what can a pleb do? And so to the next inquirer he answered (pretty ungraciously, it must be owned):

"Somebody said it was Lorenzo Monkey, sir."

"Can't have a monkey without a tail," said Mr. Danby. "Now remember, beast, you are technically called: 'Lorenzo Monkey; and the name is not fame.' Take your eyes off me, sir!"

Well, the tail grew—naturally; and every time the name was called for, to amuse one man or a dozen, somebody would add on a word, and then Magnus was bid to rattle the whole thing off, amid shouts of laughter. He was required also to write out his technical name in full, and hand the paper in under the guise of an official document: a half sheet of paper duly folded, and inscribed as follows:

Camp Hard,
West Point, N. Y.,
July —, 18—.

---

---

Kindred, C,
Cadet Private. Co. "A." 4th Class.

---

---

Subscribed Copy of
"Technical Name."

---

---

Within, it ran thus:

Camp Hard,
West Point, N. Y.,
July —, 18—.

To Cadet Lieut. Crabapple. (Through the proper channels.)

Sir: I have the honour to submit the following,—my technical name for the summer encampment, U. S. M. A. To wit:

I am Lorenzo Monkey; and the name is not fame. It is tame: it is lame: it is shame: it is blame: it is game. Yet I claim, a Colonial dame was my flame, when I came. Same at same.

Very respectfully,

Your obedient servant,
Charlemagne Kindred,
Cadet Private, Co. "A." Fourth Class.

To Cadet Lieut. Crabapple,
Commanding Battalion of Crabs.

Magnus chafed at all this stuff; growled over it, almost resisted; and yet it was wise to pass things by as quietly as he could. All the same, his feeling towards some of the upper classmen was getting to be a very fixed fact, indeed.

Mr. Prank, for instance, was much given to hops,—also to prinking for the same: and it was in his heart to combine all the good things he could, and "crawling" plebs came in among the rest. So on hop nights, after supper, when Mr. Prank was shaving, dressing, and vainly endeavouring to curl his short hair, Magnus Kindred was frequently detailed as valet. The work being to follow Mr. Prank about the tent and fan him during these fatigues, and also to soothe and attune his feelings by singing "Annie Laurie" or some other lovelorn ditty. How Magnus did hate it!—and how he did secretly vow vengeance, if ever he himself should have half a chance with Mr. Prank's best girl! But then! Mr. Prank had a relay of "best girls," and could spare one or two just as well as not.

On the other hand, the two men who "tented" with Magnus thought he had an easy time.

"If you had to black Mr. Mean's shoes!" said Randolph.

"Or clear up after old Seaton," said Rig.

Rig's technical name taxed all his powers of memory and patience. It began:

"I am the distilled quintessence of stuff, the double-dyed result of being dipped in the Styx,"—and so on, ad infinitum, and to Rig, certainly, ad nauseam.

Homesickness had broken loose in the fourth class, of late, and become epidemic. These boys were but boys, and the manliest of them all would—many a day—have given up his hopes of being a brigadier just to lay his head down on his mother's apron, and have her pet him and comfort him, and make him feel that he was not a "beast."

"But she'd not find any hair to stroke, now," said Magnus Kindred, in one of these spasms. And then he caught hold of himself again, set his teeth in his favourite fashion, and announced to himself that he meant to be adjutant.

"And I'll not look like you, either," he went on, apostrophising Mr. Larkin, who just then came strolling by between two admiring girls, turning from one to the other with much the air of the exquisite who said:

"Really, now, you know—won't somebody come and share me?"

The young adjutant's buttons were very bright, and his waist was very small; and the red and white (brown) of his complexion left nothing to be desired. If he had been a girl, you might have called his walk "willowy," but I know not the masculine of that. And the barber had plainly been open to persuasion in his case, and had left almost a lovelock or two on the tall head.

Magnus Kindred watched the party go by, but they did not see him. In one of the rocky, shady nooks on Flirtation, where the green leaves rustle and the river whispers softly to the shore, there he had hidden himself away with his sweet and bitter fancies. Hard, literal facts they were just then, for Magnus.

The footsteps died away, and more came, quicker and brisker than the first; and two cadets went by his hiding place. Then another with his best girl (for the time being); and Magnus watched them all. As the silence fell again a wood thrush in the shadows behind him rang its liquid chime.

Then a tall cadet with chevrons, and the dainty air and manner which had earned him the soubriquet of "Gentleman Joe," passed slowly by with his mother on his arm; he bending down to her, and she looking up to him, while a little white fidget of ten years old flitted about the two.

But when these were out of sight, then Magnus Kindred threw himself face down among the moss and ferns, and gave no further heed to outside things.

"Oh, mother!—and Cherry, and Violet, and Rose—and home!" It was very bitter for a while. And when at last, in answer to a distant drum-call, Magnus roused himself, and got on his feet, he knew that he hated that drum, and all it betokened, just as hard as he could.

Gentler thoughts came, as he mounted the hill. The clear notes of the thrushes were all around him, but in their grave sweetness there were no faltering tones; and while it pierced the boy's heart it strengthened it, too. Yes, one day he would be the tall man with chevrons, leading his mother along Flirtation; and she should be as proud of him as Mrs. Gresham was of her son. And, instead of that child in white, there would be—but here the drum became imperative, and Magnus stowed away all the rest of his thoughts, and double-timed every remaining step up to Camp Hard.

I cannot bear it any longer, said the pewter soldier as he sat on the drawers; it is so lonely and melancholy here.

—Hans Andersen.

It was the evening for band concert at the camp: a warm first of August. A red glow lingered over Crownest, the stars came out slowly, hazy with the heat; the katydids were publishing their arrival in the usual contradictory way. As the twilight deepened, the camp began to light up, and in front of the colour-line one especial burner shone full upon the concert programme, which was posted on a stick. Beyond this a small circle of lights marked the standing place of the band.

Cadets were everywhere—half in a tent, or half out; walking, sauntering, standing, in twos and threes and half-dozens; some down on the grass where the lights shone full, and some hid away in the shadows towards Fort Clinton.

Other figures were coming up, too, and dresses of every hue flitted across the plain. The dew lay sweet and fresh upon every grass-blade, but then the grass was short, and nobody minded dew when going to band concert.

Often some grey uniform was escorting some dainty lady: these coming straight from the houses, and those others pausing, after a delightful tryst at Trophy Point, or a saunter along the upper bends of Flirtation. For, in those days, the concert night limits were—so far as you could hear and distinguish the music.

The plebs kept together, and away from the gay throng; unless where some especially happy boy had a cousin on hand. But a great event had marked that day in Camp Hard; for the obnoxious "grey bags" had disappeared, giving place to the full uniform, bell buttons and all complete; and at last the plebs looked like cadets.

Magnus Kindred had been as jubilant as anyone over the change, and nobody had given a heartier parting kick to the grey bag. But "a competency is what a man has, and a little more"—and so, then, the young man wanted someone to look at him. How his mother and sisters would have stroked the sleeve of that wonderful dress coat, and admired the buttons: how they would have studied out every turn of braid and quirl of adornment. And Cherry—no, they were not her little hands he seemed to feel on his arm: her hands were just folded in their pretty way, and she stood a few steps off, laughing at the others, and secretly admiring him. She never said so, but what innocent, true-hearted girl can quite keep it out of her eyes, when her hero stands before her? Or, if the eyes sometimes grew shy and turned away, the lips laughed, and told it still.

"Bless her dear heart!" Magnus said, almost aloud, his own lips parting in a smile at the sweet vision. But then they closed again firmer than ever. Two thousand miles away (it seemed five thousand to Magnus), and two whole years before he could go there. And a weary sigh measured off both time and space, and found them endless.

"Joseph," whispered Mrs. Gresham to her son (they were just opposite Magnus), "who is that boy?"

"Kindred—fourth class."

"He looks like a first-class fellow," said Mrs. Gresham, watching him, as he suddenly moved off and joined the grey circle around the band. "What a fine face he has! I noticed him yesterday before parade."

"Good fellow enough," assented Mr. Gresham, who was just then "noticing" the arrival of Miss Saucy. "But he's so awfully homesick. Blue as Cat's eyes."

"Well, you're not obliged to call me 'Cat,' sir, if you are a captain," said the little girl, trying hard to make a pinch tell through the thick cadet cloth. "He's the one that was up among the rocks, Aunt Effie. I told you, and you wouldn't look."

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Gresham. "Never try to see anybody who does not wish to be seen, Catty."

Miss Catty pouted.

"I knew he was a cadet," she said, "for I saw the bell buttons. And I thought cadets always want to be looked at. They act so."

There was a burst of laughter from the group that had gathered round Mrs. Gresham.

"Oh, what a pity she's not a little older!" cried Miss Flyaway. "Your mainstay ought not to graduate for six years to come, Mrs. Gresham, that Catty might be up to the situation. But then, we poor damsels would have lost him. So it's best as it is. Things are generally best as they are."

"Some few things might be improved," said Mrs. Gresham quietly. "Joseph, I wish you would bring up Mr. Kindred, and introduce him."

"Now, ma'am?"

"Yes, now. We can spare you so long as that."

"Oh, with the greatest pleasure!" cried Miss Flirt, making a profound courtesy; while Miss Flyaway called after him: "Don't hurry yourself, we'll wait."

"Tell him you wouldn't go away for anything," said the irrepressible Catty.

"You saucy monkey!" said Miss Flirt. "You ought to be in bed and asleep."

"I don't believe you were, at my age," said Catty, with better logic than she knew.

"Hush, Catty!" said her aunt. "Mr. Carr, who is that officer talking with Mrs. Seaton?"

"The arch-fiend, we call him," said Carr, with a laugh. "He's the professor of confusion worse confounded, Mrs. Gresham. Do you want him brought up, too?"

"Thank you, no: here comes Joseph. How do you do, Mr. Kindred?" And Mrs. Gresham gave Magnus a warm clasp of the hand that went to his heart.

"Come and sit here by me," she said, making room for Magnus. "I suppose you enjoy these concerts very much?"

"Sometimes," Magnus answered her. "They make a change."

"Why don't you go to the hops, if you want a change?" said Catty, leaning her elbows on her aunt's lap, and gazing up at the new acquaintance. Magnus laughed in spite of himself.

"How do you know but I do?" he said.

"I never see you there when I go," said Catty.

"I'll tell you, child," said Miss Flirt, coming to the rescue. "Mr. Kindred never goes to the hops in the hop room, because at this time of year he has no end of hops outdoors."

Catty looked mystified.

"I'm not talking to you," she said, turning her back. "But I never met you out walking either, Mr. Kindred. Don't you ever walk with anybody but your best girl? I never do, when my special cadet's on guard."

Amid the little hubbub which this called forth, Mrs. Gresham rose up.

"If you will give me your arm, Mr. Kindred," she said, "I should like to walk round the camp. The lights and shades show so differently from different points; it is pleasant to watch them. I have been in Europe for three years, and West Point is new to me. What is the band playing now?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am. One of Moore's melodies comes next."

"How lovely the shadows are! I used to be quite a painter in my young days," said Mrs. Gresham as they strolled along. "Is that one of your studies?"

"Not this year, ma'am. Indeed we have no real studies 'in camp.'"

"But still many things that deserve the name: I understand. What do you call the hardest thing you have to do?"

"Sometimes, 'study to be quiet,'" said Magnus, with a look and tone at once so playful and so full of feeling that Mrs. Gresham opened her heart, and took him right in.

"Ah, yes!" she said, "I can well believe it. And I am glad you have Bible words at hand for your hard places."

"Do you care about them?" said Magnus quickly. "I thought nobody did, here."

"About Bible words? Oh, yes they do!" said Mrs. Gresham, with her gentle smile. "You do not know many people here yet, Mr. Kindred."

"And I am not likely to, very soon," said Magnus. "But I spoke too quick. Yes, I know there are some right here in the Corps who care. There's Mr. Upright of the first class. I do not believe he ever misses a chance of doing the out-and-out thing for a Christian to do. And Mr. True of the third, he's another. Oh, there are a lot among us that know enough—if we only hold out," he added soberly.

Mrs. Gresham had listened for her son's name, but it did not come. He, too, "knew enough," but alas! only that very morning when he came in from drill, Magnus had heard him curse his horse, and the instructor, and the whole concern, in terms that would have wrung the gentle mother's heart. The girls did not know, as they hung upon his arm; the officers did not guess, seeing only the straight military figure and good face: only God knew, and the fellow-students to whom Gresham was setting his example. The mother felt the omission, sighed, waited, and sighed again; then silently locked up her fears and her disappointment.

"But you must hold out, Mr. Kindred," she said. "If you are a professing Christian, you have sworn it."

"Yes, ma'am," Magnus answered soberly, "and I mean it, too. But there are harder times here than you can guess."

"It is the pinch that shows what a man is," said Mrs. Gresham. "If you must run, run before the firing begins."

Magnus laughed.

"I'll remember," he said.

"But remember, too," said Mrs. Gresham, "that here as everywhere else: on the Hill Difficulty of West Point, no less than among the Delectable Mountains at home, you are to be a witness for Christ."

"Yes, ma'am—you would think so," said Magnus excitedly, "and so mother thinks. But how are you going to do anything here? Religion don't count, in this old camp."

"Religion may come in and stay, even where she is not fêted and caressed," said Mrs. Gresham.

"That is true enough," said the boy, colouring. "All the same, you can't guess, as I said, what a hard time she has. And now guard duty begins; and it'll be drill and walk post, walk post and drill, night and day. Your shoulders poked in, and your feet kicked out. Skinned if you don't skin somebody else, and nearly skinned actually if you do. Told forty things a day that you don't understand, and then given extra tours because you don't. That's what they say. Why, there are six hundred and sixty-eight separate regulations that we are supposed to keep!"

"Six hundred and sixty-eight!" said Mrs. Gresham. "Well, it must take a very lively imagination to 'suppose' that three hundred boys will keep six hundred and sixty-eight regulations."

"They know we can't do it," said Magnus hotly. "But we're bid to, all the same. And they punish us if we don't."

"Good-evening, Mrs. Gresham," said another voice, and Cadet Main (alias Mean) came up and shook hands. "What work of charity have you in tow now?"

"Mr. Kindred has been telling me about the many regulations," said Mrs. Gresham.

"Oh, regulations!" said Main. "Yes, there's quite a little many of 'em. Keeps a fellow busy to break 'em all; but some of us max it, every time."

"Break them? You mean 'keep them,'" said Mrs. Gresham.

"No I don't—not I!" said Main, laughing. "You'd better believe I don't. Why, the only fun I have in life is breaking regulations."

"Breaking them?" repeated Mrs. Gresham, looking bewildered. "But you will get yourself into trouble, so, Mr. Main."

"Will, shall, have, and expect to," said Main. "I'm bound to get some fun out of this old prison."

"Suppose the walls open, rather suddenly, and let you out."

"Make my best bow, and go. It'll be a great loss to the service. But you should talk to Lorenzo here, Mrs. Gresham; he's played good boy ever since he came. Regular pet of the Com.'s, he is. Why, he won't even help carry off Sammy from the Mess Hall."

"And pray how comes 'Sammy,' as you call him, to need carrying off?" demanded Mrs. Gresham severely. But that brought such a chorus of laughter from the whole group of cadets (several more had gathered round), that Mrs. Gresham let her question drop.

"We'll run it up to the hotel some day, and present him, Mrs. Gresham," said Main.

"If you 'run it'—to anywhere I am, I'll not see you," said the lady.

"Why, you can't keep all the regulations," said Devlin. "Not if you did your level best. You just have to break them."

"Then what is it all for—this Blue Book you tell of?"

"Light reading for the Academic Board," suggested Mr. Sharpless.

"Skinning made easy," said Main. "Every new Tac makes a new rule and tacks it on. They'll bring it up to a thousand presently."

They had made the circuit of the camp, and now came round once more to the open space before the lights, with its shadowy border where the motley groups paused, moved on, went in and out. The camp points of flame flickered, and peered into the dusk; contesting now with a nobler light their right of search. For in the east the moon was rising; lifting her fair face above the hilltops, and pouring a flood of summer glory over river and plain.

"Just so she will be rising at home," Magnus thought. "With the girls all sitting on the steps, and mother in her rocking chair in the porch."

It is well for the homesick cadet that his surroundings are so fine, beguiling him with their beauty; but it is also a good thing that he never can do much "mooning" at once. Before Magnus had got to the middle of his third sigh came the sharp voice of the drum, calling him to order. And yet "sharp" is hardly the word; only neglected duty takes on that tone, but the drum-call was brisk, imperative, unmistakable. Yet fine, as well, and stirring; as duty attended to always is.

It was pretty to see the grey and white figures coming out from the dusky shadows among the trees, and crossing to the tents. Some at a quick run, others slowly, as under protest: here and there one very lingeringly, with many a backward look and farewell word, to some white-robed vision that shewed angelic in the uncertain light.

Meanwhile, the racket of drum and fife filled all the air, rattling up and down the company streets. The crowd scattered, the band tramped off; and still here and there a tardy cadet came hurrying in, but only in time to get a cold "late" or "absence."

"Oh, it is such fun to make them run!" said one fair creature delightedly. "I just kept Mr. Dunkirk fooling along after the first drum; and there he goes, for all he is worth."

"Too late?" queried a quiet lady in a dark dress.

"Not too late to get to bed," said Miss Saucy. "They won't make him walk post to-night, poor boy. But he'll be on the black list to-morrow."

"Then you won't have him to walk with on Saturday," said another girl.

"Have somebody else, ma chère. One gets tired of the same man too often. If I didn't trip him up now and then I should die of a surfeit of honey, and never have a chance at treacle and lumps of sugar."

"But do you mean to say," said the lady in black, "do you really mean to say that you get these young men into difficulty wilfully? That you are responsible for their being late?"

"Well, I do everything wilfully," said the girl—"and I am never responsible for anything. So I don't know how you'll fix it."

"I shall tell the Commandant to-morrow!" said the lady excitedly.

"No good." said the girl. "He can't skin me—and he will skin him. It don't hurt much: he don't care. Says he don't."

"He ought to care!"

"Very likely he ought," said Miss Saucy. "Oh, he's not absolute perfection—won't be canonised till he's dead, I dare say."

Yes, with the new uniform came also new work, as Magnus had been warned. Guard duty put in its claim, and the plebs were promoted to walk post, and to learn what upper classmen could do to make that duty unpleasant. "Jumping plebs" went on with variations. "Crawling" seems to be the favourite word now, but probably the thing itself is not much slower than it was of yore.

The first night on guard was a never-to-be-forgotten thing to Magnus Kindred.

It was a quiet night enough, so far as disturbances went, for this time the tide of mischief seemed to set in some other direction. But that only left the power of the night itself unchecked. So still, so solemn, so sweet, and yet with such a bitter flavour. Strange beyond description, and beautiful past all telling.

Charlemagne had gone on with the second relief, tattoo had beat, and taps had said its closing word; and now all private lights were out. The day had been hot, but the night came down dewy and cool; and the full summer moon was slowly flooding the world with glory, and lining out everything in clear black and white.

Every tent wall was raised to let in the air. The prostrate men on the floors were as still as the white canvas above their heads. Sleeping off drills and difficulties here, and there plotting and planning; or perhaps gazing out into the night with wide-open, homesick eyes.

A faint breath stirred the trees around Camp Hard; from across the plain one could just catch the sound of slow footsteps, where the enlisted sentry paced up and down the Officers' Row. Far below, on the river, boats went and came: a sloop, dreaming noiselessly along on the incoming tide; or two steamers, signalling before they met. You could hear the dash of the swell upon the shore, and the panting breath of the fierce little tugs, with the more stately beat of the paddles of a side-wheeler. Over all, the moon rode high and clear.

And, for this night, the Western pleb was unmolested. Not a stray ghost crossed his beat. Up and down, up and down, in company with his shadow, the slow, measured step leaving his thoughts free: and they had all gone home. And so it was, that by degrees Magnus Kindred fell into one of his desperate fits of lonely homesickness, ready to fire off his musket, or do any lawless thing, if only so he might be arrested and dismissed to freedom, mother, and the girls. And on post you cannot throw your arms into the air and yourself down on the ground; not get even the smallest bit of any such slight relief.

As Magnus turned on his beat, pacing now towards the western hills, the exceeding beauty of the bit of star-spangled sky to the north was full in view. The Great Bear and his associates held on their shining way, despite the moon, calm, high, lifted above all of earth's tears and turmoils. What was that his mother used to sing?

Magnus remembered with another of his sharp twinges.

"All right for her!" he thought, pacing back again to meet the moon, "all right for them all! But the folks that tread those pavements have gotten the victory."

"I do not think, myself," Cadet Kindred went on candidly, eyeing the stars once more, "that I am fighting for it hard enough to hurt, just at present. 'Gotten the victory,'" he repeated to himself, "won it, and kept it."

The dear folks at home might not even be thinking of him, just then; they were doubtless all peacefully asleep, each having laid down her heart's desire at the feet of Him "that keepeth Israel," so leaving the far-off young sentinel in His tender care. But Magnus knew, almost as if he had heard them, the prayers sent up for him that night.

A sharp, resonant cry brought him suddenly back to Camp Hard and duty. From the post in front of the camp the sentinel gave the hour.

"Number One! Half-past ten o'clock and all's--well!"

Then it came to Magnus.

Now the guard had been admonished, that very day, not to mumble the words, but to give each its full value, clear and strong. But this first man was sleepy, or lazy, and gave small heed to the order. His "All's well!" was loud enough, but seemed rather a matter of hope than of certainty.

I am not sure that Magnus even supposed that he himself was working out the spirit of the order, but he was homesick and disheartened, as well as ignorant of military affairs; and with that a little bit reckless, and ready to do anything for a change. What did it matter, anyhow? And so, as it came to his turn, he shouted forth the call at the top of his voice, and to the closing notes of the retreat bugle call at parade.

And half the camp heard it.

Of course there was a stir, and Magnus was reported for "calling the hour in an improper manner." But he went scot-free, after all, by reason, doubtless, of his short acquaintance with guard duty.

In such fashion days and weeks rolled by; as time-wheels will, over the roughest ground, and through the most uninteresting country. For without doubt, drills can become monotonous; and if the body yielded itself more and more easily to regulations, as the time went on, so did not always the mind.

At first, in the strangeness of everything, details went for less, but now that he no longer wore the grey bag, to have his toes still kicked out set his blood tingling. He was so well made by nature, that "this extra regulation ramrod style," as he spitefully termed it, seemed like persecution. For some of the drill masters by no means slackened their demands as the need of them grew less.

"Get your shoulders back, Mr. Kindred!"

"Get them back, sir!"

"Get them back!"

"He had better take a sledge hammer and pound them in," Magnus declared one day.

"You'll be pounded for disrespect," Rig warned him.

"All right; it's a true bill. I don't respect that man, and I never shall."

"But officers, you know," suggested Rig.

"Oh, officers!" said Magnus loftily. "What business has he to be an officer, with the manners of a boot-black?"

However, as I said, time did wear on; with parades, drills, gymnastics, and the rest of it. And in the intervals, when upper classmen walked with the pretty girls, and went to teas and picnics, the plebs drew together and eyed them from a distance, making many comments, uttering many groans; but, most of all, knitting up firm and strong the class bond which no after-years could break.

This class bond is a most natural thing among boys who have faced hardships side by side; and in a way, it is very fine; but it has its danger, too.

The stand taken by each one in the class for and with each other one, in those first hard weeks when they feel as if every man's hand was against them all, sometimes passes into a "Stand by the class!" which cramps the influence, and hinders the action of many an individual man. "The class, right or wrong!" is never a safe motto.

One other little event in camp life that summer may be told over here, for its after-effect upon Magnus Kindred.

There were two or three men in the pleb class who, by reason of a certain offhand brightness of thought and tongue, had more influence with the rest than they deserved, for either their principles or their brains. Men able to put the wrong thing into such brilliant words, that the real meaning was lost sight of in the fun and the glitter. And so, in the scarcity of amusements, Magnus fell into the habit of lingering where they stood; listening to their sayings, laughing at their sallies, and, to a certain degree, following their lead. And, as often happens, the light words, the smart speeches which were not true, won their way. He began to hearken more readily, and more easily lent himself to plans and projects he might better have let alone; getting into the swirl of a current not likely to land him on any good and fruitful shore.

And then, as birds of a feather are apt to find each other out, some men of like tendencies in the first class made common cause, in a way; finding an admiring look of any sort quite pleasant, and a pleb a convenient catspaw, now and then. They made the musical ones come in for a chorus; and under such innocent cover matured their plans, and told their stories, to nobody's good.

If one of these wits set forth the fact that "Muffti" was sure to lead the prayer-meeting that night, Magnus would perhaps stay in his tent, or wander off beyond sound of the hymns, which always pricked his conscience and his heart as well. Or if some smart man made fun of the preacher who was to fill the chaplain's place during the summer vacation, Magnus was careful the next Sunday to practise himself in the fine art of sitting bolt upright when fast asleep. He grew to be an expert at smuggling in "boodle": he took the loan of books he had much better have let alone.

"Come round to my tent after dinner, Mr. Kindred," said Cadet Upright one day; and of course Magnus went; then stood attention in the straightest sort of way; very much wondering for what unknown breach of rules he was to be called to account by the first Captain.

So he stood up to all his inches, just within the tent door, while Cadet Captain Upright sat on a camp stool facing him; a stray sunbeam working its way in to touch the chevrons, and lighting up the honest, sunburnt face. Mr. Upright was no beauty, but not a man in the Corps was more thoroughly respected than he. "Not much to look at," said Sam Weller of his hat, "but it's an astonishin' 'un to wear!"

"Mr. Kindred," began Upright, "I asked you to come, because I wanted to talk to you."

He paused, and Magnus responded, "Yes, sir."

"You are in danger," Upright went on. "You are taking risks no wise man will shoulder."

"What have I done, sir?" Magnus demanded, stiffening slightly.

"Nothing special, to my knowledge," said the first captain, "But I see you in slippery places, where sooner or later a man must go down. And the mud often sticks for a good while to come, even after—and even if—he picks himself up and gets away."

"I don't see, sir," Magnus began—"what risks are you talking of, Mr. Upright?"

"The risk of being false to yourself, and to your Christian pledge and name; the risk of (practically) forgetting your mother and your mother's words."

But now Magnus burst forth.

"Forgetting my mother!" he said. Then checking himself:

"Oh, well, sir, that proves you never saw her, Mr. Upright."

Upright laughed, and his eyes shone.

"Good for you!" he said heartily. "But, Mr. Kindred, you are training with the wrong crowd."

And now Magnus coloured, and his eyes went down. Upright watched him for a moment in silence; then he took up a slip of paper, and held it out.

"Here is a reminding text I wrote off for you," he said. "Take it with you up and down the post. 'He setteth a print on the heels of my feet.' That will do, sir," and Magnus saluted, and whirled away.

"Might be the Com. himself, for the style he talks!" he grumbled, under his breath. But all the same, the words sank in. They were too true to miss a hearing, on the one side, and had been too kindly spoken to lose it, on the other. Yes, he was training with the wrong crowd, there was no doubt of that.

Magnus winced under the confession. There was no one he so little liked to find fault with as himself, and to court-martial Cadet Kindred, on his own knowledge and belief, was extremely unpleasant.

But the finding of the Court is rarely severe in such cases; and Magnus presently let himself off with a few admonitions to be more careful. He went to prayer-meeting regularly, boned discipline a little, and kept away from that crowd (what he called) "all he could."

Then they broke camp, and marched into barracks, and that was a help, for work began at a rate that left scant time for lawless play. Magnus Kindred had studied before, studied hard, but never with the exactness of drill and discipline and pressure that now filled every day. Breakfast, recitation, study, dinner, study, recitation, drill; then dress parade, supper, and study. Some of the plebs resigned and went home, others talked gloomily of being "found" in January; before which wintry fear homesickness itself gave way. And again others drew the buckles of their armour tight, looked well to their stirrups, and went at the difficulties, lance in rest.

Of these true knights Charlemagne Kindred was one. Lessons, problems, questions, went down before his fierce assault. He had never enjoyed being headed off in what he chose to do; and had pledged it to himself that if ever anything did that kind office for him, it should not be West Point.

"You stop me?" he would say to some particularly obnoxious book. "You get in my way?" and probably the hard-headed volume would then and there find itself pitched to the furthest corner of the room. But after that little expression of opinion, Magnus would pick the book up, and bone with all his might. Smith's "Conic Sections" got quite used to such short excursions, and Ketel's "French Grammar" grew old before its time.

Rig's method was different.

"Kin, I'm growing grey," he said plaintively one morning.

"Grey as a goose."

"No, but really," said Rig, laying down the book. "This thing's too hard, you know. Breaks a man all up."

"You'd best stick yourself together again before two o'clock," said Magnus.

"No good," said Rig, taking up another study volume from the heap. "I'll try this a while. Nobody ought to be expected to learn such stuff."

"Put that book down!" Magnus thundered at him, from his own corner.

"Oh, I can put it down easy enough," Rig said rather sulkily. "But I can't see what business it is of yours."

"Now fold your hands, and spell zero ten times backwards," said Magnus, "and then take your Davies, and go to work. Unless you want to fess solid for the rest of your life."

"Well—Say, Kin,—what a good fellow Mr. Upright is."

"Mr. Upright's a cold max. Mind your business."

Pushing and pulling did a good deal for Rig that winter. There was a little stir about the holidays, when the happy upper classmen who had won their Christmas leave went off for unlimited bliss in a limited time, and those who had lost it abused "luck." And there was also the mild interest of a better dinner than usual. But to the plebs, for whom no getting away was possible, and to whom no Point festivities were open, that first Christmas was a thing to live through as best they might. I think some of them despised even the dinner, with the flavour of their mother's cookery yet lingering and fresh.

How hard it was! "The most miserable day they ever spent," as many a one has said since. And the letters and home trifles that arrived in the mail-bag were not much help in the line of bracing up. Magnus put Cherry's bookmark in his Bible, and his mother's picture up his sleeve; while the toilet cushion and cover on which the two girls had bestowed so many loving looks, as they wrought out the pretty devices, were hid away in his clothes bag; no such decorations being allowed in barracks.

Then he wrote letters to them all, then he tried to study, but who can study on a legal holiday?

So at last Cadet Kindred donned his grey fearnaught, wandered down among the rocks and snow-drifts on Flirtation, and listened to the grinding of the ice cakes in the dark river. The sky, blue with an unearthly far-away depth of colour, was pushed back by the whitened hills: all nature seemed locked up and unapproachable and unsympathising.

And Magnus Kindred felt as desperately lonesome as he thought it was in the power of man to be.

There were no loiterers now under the "Kissing Rock"; no echoing steps within "First-class Cave"; all the old seats and trysting places were snow capped and silent. Even the broad folds of the Post flag would have been some company, a little cheer to his sad eyes as he once more came out upon the plain. But the Post flag was safely folded away; and only a wee, wintry looking storm flag, whipped out in many a past gale, was abroad to brave the keen-edged airs that stirred round Trophy Point. Could anything exceed the dreariness and length of that wretched Christmas Day?

Then such cake for tea—though I doubt if Purcell's best would have suited Magnus that night. He was glad when the drummers began their noisy tattoo, that he might unroll his mattress, go to bed, and forget his misery.

New Year's Day was not quite so bad, perhaps because the coming examination lent at least a dash of red pepper to the monotony, and the first evening of the new year was full of study and talk, questions, fears, and surmisings. Blue letters home went off in troops, and many a man arranged definitely just what he would do after he was "found," of which last fact he felt sure. With the great hop that graced this week, or the gay damsels who graced the hop, the fourth class had nothing to do.

It was natural enough that the strain and fatigue of the examination should be followed by a certain dislike for work at all. The men who were "found" had vanished; the men who had gone up a section were quietly in place, while others had as quietly joined "the Immortals," a better name than its popular substitute. And from now on until June, things would remain pretty much as they were.

No wonder, then, if the reaction set in strong. Snow blocked the favourite cadet walks; permits for skating were cut. No parades, no stirring drills, except in the riding-hall, and the plebs had no good of them.

Then there were stormy days when even the officers' row was gloomy, and things grew very tame indeed. The bent bows ached to spring back, and the pent-up steam was ready to blow off in any direction; for mischief at least makes a change, and to break regulations and not be found out, gave life a certain flavour. It was a pity, but not at all strange.

And so, in some parts of the barracks, license, not liberty, was the popular word. The great point of interest by day and by night being how to defy the blue book, and not get caught.

The leaders were bright men, some of them; personable, pleasant to talk to, fair mathematicians, and capital cooks over the gas-light. Several had friends who sent them money, sweets, mince pies, and tobacco: all smuggled in by unscrupulous outside hands. And these dainties were freely dispensed by the happy owners.

As to the rest, they were light fingered enough for pick- pockets, and could abstract and convey to barracks anything—except "Sammy"—from the mess-hall table; and I have even been told that this one exception lost its place that year.

But so far, you could charge things pretty fairly upon fun, and the delightful exercise of skill. If, as was alleged, they carried off two pounds of sugar for every lemon they got hold of, still, one must do something; and as they said, "the sugar was all paid for out of their own allowance."

A much graver thing—perhaps the worst in the whole business—was the bribing enlisted men. Some free lances, indeed, were much too fond of "chancing" it, to do their frisky deeds by proxy. They fetched for themselves what they wanted, with a daring of which I may not tell. But others would get the sentry at the gate to pass things in; or a bandsman to bring all sorts of contraband goods from the Falls. Other people helped, but a mess-hall waiter could only lose his place and run away, while the sentinels were in trust.

Now Magnus Kindred had not been so brought up, and the sight and hearing of certain things at first made him indignant. But they looked lighter coloured the fifteenth time than the first. The memory of Mr. Upright's words also faded out, and when springtime came, and days grew long and nights were bright, he had fallen back into much the old way, and was training with (or training) the wrong crowd. And he was so agile and wary that he never got caught, which was perhaps his loss.

"I don't see how you work it, Kin," Rig complained one day. "You do everything you have a mind to, and yet even Towser will swear you in for sweet cream every time. But as for me, if both my shoe toes aren't blacked exactly alike, I'm skinned to a certainty."

I am not sure that Magnus relished the compliment,—one has a choice about praise,—but he made no answer, and did not change his too successful ways.

And thus that pleb winter did much work for him in more lines than one. For you cannot keep hard at hard studies, as he did, without a swift and increasing rate of progress; the Hill Difficulty of West Point, as Mrs. Gresham had called it, yielded better and better footing, week by week. But alas, it is also true that you cannot constantly fling even small stones at the law, without that fine pillar of strength's being chipped and frayed, and in a sort defaced. Magnus Kindred did not call his doings by any such dignified name, but all the same, freedom and lawlessness were getting very much mixed in his mind. While the right of the authorities to command, and his own right to disobey, were in a worse tangle still. The wise, dignified, and wholesome rule of "Honour to whom honour, fear to whom fear," was much dethroned in those days.

So the course of the days and the drift of the ways went on. Winter slid early into spring. Company drills began, and the full tide of everything set in, especially walks. Bright parasols appeared on the sidewalk, and the old seat at Gee's Point once more received its guests.

A general stir of preparation was in the air; grass was dressed, branches trimmed, and rubbish burned. Cleaning house was on hand, and dressmakers; and always drills, drills, drills. To the Post in general, these signs meant the coming of the Board of Visitors, and all the whirl of examination week: but to the cadets, chiefly June.

All that spring, in spite of much work, Magnus Kindred wrote home very regularly; long, amusing letters. Telling less of his inner life than the hearts at home would have liked; but the strangeness of what he said of the outer partly covered this up. And I doubt whether Magnus knew how little he told.

Of one thing, however, he was dimly conscious. At first, his mother's expressions of trust and hope, given in Bible words or her own, had been a comfort and help to him; they seemed to bring her nearer and to make him stronger. But of late he had been often inclined to slur over those parts of her letters, and to hurry on "to get the news first"—as he put it to himself. He never stopped to ask why; and it was again Mr. Upright who opened his eyes, and showed him how quietly they had been closing and falling asleep.

There are tears as well as smiles, on that fateful day in June. Here is a mother, who, having had her son within easy reach for the last four years, knows that now, after the short graduation leave, he will be whirled away beyond her ken. To Barrancas, it may be, or Huachuca, or Indian Territory. So the mother breaks down and cries visibly.

And here are roommates, who have stood shoulder to shoulder in all sorts of hardships, now henceforth, until, they are grey-haired men, to live as far apart as this broad country can put them; and it is a sobering thought.

Then, this pretty, timid girl, who has ventured her heart on the insecure ground of cadet soft speeches; or thought out her wedding dress after one particular walk around Flirtation; or tried the class ring on one of her own slender fingers, without being asked to keep it there.

"Oh, it is too dreadful!" she cries, stamping her little foot, and with the tears all ready, when that heartless band fall off into "The Girl I Left Behind Me." "I can not see what they find in that old tune."

It goes hard with her, sometimes, poor child, in matter of health.

And sometimes a like hope is laid down with the grey, and the blue must seek another charmer; and earth is—henceforth and comparatively—a desert. All sorts of things happen at graduation; and when you hear an eager, "You will be sure to come back in August," it does not follow that he will, or that she will wait for him if he does.

But there was no shallow sentiment about Mr. Upright. On the day of his graduation, the young first captain, having put off his cadet honours and come out in plain "cits," went down to the mess-hall dinner to look round the old place once more, and to speak farewell words to his own company and the Corps. Magnus Kindred caught his eye and smile, and started a yell for Mr. Upright, which quite cut short that young man's power to say much; but every word had the resonance of true metal.

"'Quit you like men! be strong.' 'Strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might,'" he said; vainly trying to shake all the hands held out to him. But if the tones faltered, the meaning was full strung, and Magnus once more opened his eyes, and looked at himself and his doings. And the more he looked, the less he liked it.

It was a good day for feeling blue. The sudden quiet, the cut-down numbers; envy of the furlough men, and to a degree, of the graduates, made men restless and dull. No drill, no parade, and not even "a plank" left of the Board of Visitors. Not even many girls to look at; for half the Post, and three-tenths of the visitors, had sailed away with the gay throng on the down boat, and candidates swarmed everywhere.

Magnus Kindred strolled off by himself to the river edge, sat down and looked himself over.

"Absolutely getting used to things!" he confided to his favourite oaks and cedars. And then he began to see what was the character of those things. Of course, a boy could not grow up anywhere, alas! in this poor world, and not now and then hear men swear; but oaths from his comrades had at first shocked him exceedingly. There was one man, for instance, who for a low mark in the section room, a bad ride, a rainy Saturday, would have his mouth so full of cursing that it seemed hard to get it all out. He lived near Magnus; and many a time had the boy secretly stopped his ears to shut out the terrible words. Rig said the air was "blue" with them.

But quick and keen it came to Magnus now, that he had long ceased to take any such precautions. Ah! only last night, after the reading of the black list, he had wondered idly to himself, whether Carr would find something new to say.

Some hot, unwonted tears sprang up at that, with some very pricking thoughts of the four pure hearts at home keeping watch for him. And the thoughts grew and piled up, and sharpened their edges.

I should have said that when the new cadet officers were read out on Graduation Day, Magnus found himself promoted to the rank of corporal. Soon after this the Corps went into camp.

Yearling Camp was wonderfully unlike the dreary pleb camp of a year ago. The special hazers, drill masters, and tormentors of last year were gone away on furlough, or gone for good, and there was a new first class to take the lead. And if everyone was sorry to lose Mr. Upright, "many a dry eye followed" Mr. Devlin and Mr. Prank.

Now the yearlings threw off their reserve, came out of hiding, and were introduced to the ladies. Some wore chevrons, some were drill masters, some frequented the hops, and almost all of them learned to play the cavalier and to win fair companions for walks before breakfast and after drill; for band practice, for band concert, and the delightful wanderings on O. G. P. The long winter months of work were in the dim distance, the next big milestone was marked furlough, and at hand were summer and the summer girl. Sisters came, and cousins; introductions were many, flirtations not a few.

"It's the most delicious place!" cried Nina Dangleum one day. "You are always falling in love, and it never comes to anything."

It was not to be supposed that amid such breezes Magnus Kindred could keep himself unfanned. To give him his due, he had no particular taste for flirting, and did not often mean it; he was too earnest a fellow to like half-way measures, or to go into anything only skin-deep. And I think his own blessed cluster of womankind at home had set the standard too high for him to enjoy drawing a girl on to be silly, even if it was amusing to see. He had also not much taste for talking unmitigated stuff, or much knack at doing it, and at this time of his existence would have nearly endorsed Mr. Weller's words:

"Wot's the use o' calling a young 'ooman a Wenus? Just as well call her a griffin, or a king's arms."

But the gales that stirred about West Point just then were very perfume-laden; and almost any woman might seem like an angel, when you first come out of the double shadow of pleb year and barracks, where tactical officers were your chief glimpses of the outside world.

The soft, "Mr. Kindred, I saw you coming clear across the plain," smoothed down very pleasantly the plumage which had been so roughly stroked the wrong way. The "Tac" might have reported those very bell buttons that very day as in need of rubbing up; but if Miss Flyaway could see them as soon as the man left camp, you perceive it took off the effect.

In matters of discipline, however, and of military precision Magnus was, on the whole, a careful fellow (Rig spelled it "lucky"), and so when other men had their freedom tied up, he was often detailed to walk with the friend or the cousin and give her "a good time." Thus he came in for rather more than his share of sweets.

It was charming to wander almost anywhere in those fair days, and well nigh as good to lie in the shadow of the trees about Fort Clinton, with a book or without. The "without" was Rig's style.

"Kin—I'm no end comfortable!" he declared one day, lying back on the green with his arms above his head.

"Same at same," responded Magnus, from behind his home newspaper. Rig suddenly sat up.

"Say, Kin, I want to go to artillery drill to-morrow night as chief of caissons."

"All right. If you're detailed for guard, shall I take the girl?"

"Steady!"

But after all, so it fell out; and when the Band concert began, Magnus escorted Miss Dangleum through the shadows to where the light battery guns stood ready, helped her to mount a caisson, and was in close attendance till the drum beat. One of these old caissons was quite a favourite "box" with the girls.

"Beastly!" Rig declared it all, when he came off guard next day.

"I saw him having the spooniest sort of a time," said Randolph maliciously. "Chappy and the Kitten were on the next gun. I say, I'm tired walking post. I'm going to bone colours."

"Go in and win," Magnus admonished him.

"Well, you'll see," said Randolph. And to be sure, such a polishing of buttons, and rubbing up of arms, as followed were unknown before in Randolph's tent. Magnus declared that the buttons made him wink clear across A Company Street.

Just at the last possible moment before the critical guard-mounting, Randolph rushed in upon his two friends.

"Say, boys, lend me a pair of white trousers. I can't find any of mine that are fit to go with my buttons."

"Well, I've only one pair fit to go with mine," said Magnus. "Sorry! but they'd be too long for you."

"Rig's will do," said Randolph, making a dash at the pile of trousers. "Thanks awfully. My, how they shine!"

Well, they certainly did. Spotless, unwrinkled, as if they, too, had been "boning" colours. Randolph marched out on higher heels than those prescribed in the regulations, and later on presented himself fearlessly as a candidate for honours. And the inspecting officer's face seemed to say he had reason; Randolph could see approval in every look and gesture. Gloves, buttons, gun were scrutinised; the trousers were dazzling and smooth. Then the officer passed round for a back view. Hair right length, collar right height above the grey, belt and buttons adjusted to a nicety.

"Mr. Randolph," said the cadet adjutant, as he came round in front, "I would have given you colours but for those trousers."

And when Randolph got in and scrutinised himself he found that the borrowed trousers were deeply frayed at the ankle! After which the young man professed himself blue and bored.

"Just my luck," he said. "But I'll get even with him, see if I don't. They were only fringed behind."

Two or three days after this, Randolph accosted Magnus.

"Say, Kin, want some fun? Like to see Coxy scared within an inch of his life?"

"No sort of objection on my part; rather B. J. in you to propose it."

"It's more than propose," said Randolph. "Just you hang round my tent about nine o'clock."

Then after supper Randolph took his stand at the foot of A Company Street, where the plebs were busily going back and forth between the hydrant and the tents.

"Mr. Johnson!" he said, hailing a D Company pleb, but keeping his voice well down.

"Yes, sir."

The pleb slackened his pace a little, but did not look round, and Randolph stood glancing carelessly about, as if thinking of nothing in particular.

"When you have carried in that pail come at once to the darkened tent at the head of the street."

"Yes, sir."

"What is your name, sir?" to another.

"Mr. Ummerstot, sir."

"Mr. Upstart! I would like to know, Mr. Upstart, if you have no superior whose pail needs tilling as well as your own? Go home at once, and then report at my tent. The one with no light in it."

"Yes, sir."

When six more were under orders, Randolph strolled back to the front of his tent, and as fast as the plebs came up, he passed them in. They might stand at ease, but must not talk above a whisper. When they were all in hiding, Randolph spoke through the closed door of the tent.

"Mr. Johnson!" in a low undertone.

"Yes, sir."

"Your special technical name for this evening is Hippotherium. Do you hive it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Upstart! Your special name till tattoo is Semnopithereus."

"Mr. Parboil!"

"Mr. Carboil, sir," said the poor pleb, with a mild preference for his own name.

"I said Parboil. Your name will be Cereopithereus. Mr. Cereopithereus, you are first cousin to Mr. Semnopithereus, and according to Darwin, you each bear the same relation to a man that a pleb does to his superiors."

So the eight names were given, and then Randolph began again:

"Mr. Ichthyosaurus, you and your fellow animals will answer to your special technical names at roll-call, by a growl. You, sir, are an extinct reptile. Did you ever hear an extinct reptile growl?"

"No, sir."

"You other animals, stop that unseemly snicker. Where have you lived, sir, all your life to know so little?"

"In Massachusetts, sir."

"The very headquarters of fossil life. Well, sir, if you have any imagination at all, growl as nearly as you can in the hypothetical voice of that extinct reptile called an Ichthyosaurus."

A low growl, ending in a suppressed chuckle.

"Order there, in the zoölogical museum! Mr. Hippotherium!" and another growl followed in a different key.

"How," said Randolph, when the roll had been gone through, "the countersign is: 'Here comes the unsuspecting stranger!' Do you understand?"

The painful general growl that answered him was cut short by a smothered laugh.

"Attention! When you hear the countersign and see the tent flap lifted you are to growl all together, with your deepest and heaviest roar."

A few minutes passed silently by. Randolph loitered about near the tent, as one might do who found the evening air refreshing. Then suddenly Adjutant Cox passed down the colour line.

"Say, Cox," Randolph hailed him, "come and see what I've got in my tent."

Thinking only of boodle, for which he had a soft spot, Mr. Cox came up, and pushed back the tent flap.

"Here comes the unsuspecting stranger!" cried Randolph, and from the darkness poured forth such a horrible and very prehistoric roar that the tall cadet made one spring across the company street, demanding in no gentle tones of Randolph "What on earth he had got there?" Then, "hiving" the joke, he walked rapidly away. Only one such roar could be risked, and after a little more hectoring the plebs were let out quietly one by one, and Randolph sought out Magnus and Rig to receive their compliments on his success.

It was a new experience to be on guard as corporal; and instead of the tedious pacing up and down, to go round the camp at set intervals, posting the reliefs, and then to sleep or lounge in the guard tent. No more sounding out the "All's well!" in proper, or improper, style; but it seemed to Magnus that he never missed hearing it.

But whereas in the old days he used to wish every time he called the hour that the beautiful, serious, and weird cry could reach across the continent, even to his mother's ears, now, on the whole, he was content that it did not.

"If only she could hear it!" he used to think; if only the "All's well!" could cross those weary miles that kept her away. But now, somehow, he did not wish it. Yes, it was all well with the camp, all well with the Post; was it all well with him? Would the words bear a true report as she would understand them?

Cadet Kindred studied the point a good deal as he lay there in the guard tent looking himself over, or stole a solitary walk now and then. And I say "stole" advisedly. Short of stealing away, a solitary walk was hard to get.

If, at the risk of his neck, he slid down some sheer cliff to the river's edge, few indeed would follow him, but a cadet boat might come along shore with a barge-load of girls in tow. And sometimes he was quick enough to dodge behind the bushes, and sometimes he sat still and let the shower of exclamations come.

"Oh, there's Mr. Kindred!"

"Just see Mr. Kindred!"

"Mr. Kindred, please get right into the boat."

"Haven't a permit."

"There's nobody round," said the Kitten. "Jump in quick. You never can get back up there without being dashed to pieces."

"Hardly with. Then there'll be one less 'additional' in the way."

"How dreadful! I thought you were better brought up than to talk so."

"I was."

"Were you really so very well brought up?" said the Kitten, with her head on one side. "Do you know, I should never have thought it."

Magnus rose to his feet, and doffed his cap profoundly.

"Now you've done it, Puss," said Miss Saucy.

"Why, I don't see how," said the Kitten. "I hate well-brought-up people; that's why I spoke."

"Better hate Kin as fast as you can, then," said Chappy from the boat, "so's there'll be a chance for some of the rest of us. Why, he don't sleep in chapel more than every other Sunday."

"How can he help going to sleep, poor boy?" said Miss Saucy. "Such sermons!"

"Well, come now," said another cadet, "that last sermon wasn't half bad. And not more than twice as long as was necessary."

"Yes, but for these times!" quoth Miss Saucy. "Why, it was just like saying 'Be good,' don't you know?"

"Hard upon the times, wasn't it?" said Magnus.

"Well, row on," said the Kitten with a deep sigh. "I see by his face nothing I can say will do any good. But it is such a pity! I never guessed he was that sort. A new fad, isn't it?" she said in a loud aside, as the oars dipped and rose. "Good-bye, Mr. Kindred! I hope your meditations will be very profitable."

"Thank you," Magnus answered, standing up again, "I think they will."

He watched the boat as it went on over the dimpling water, then changed his place a little, and began on a new end of his thoughts. This girl had "never guessed he was that sort."

Maybe she was only telling society fibs, but Magnus would not let himself off so. For what reason had he ever given her to think him a Christian? Where had his colours been, in all these walks and talks and meetings? Up his sleeve, in hiding?

"But I cannot flaunt them in people's faces," Magnus pleaded for himself.

No, and no more did the flag its stars and stripes; only waved them joyously overhead.

He had been ready to say that the constant frolic with the gay crowd was not good for him, but how about his side of the influence? Had he ever tried talking sense to girls whom he condemned for talking only nonsense? "Ye are the salt of the earth," but salt refreshes, stimulates, purifies; how far had he been like that? Without being priggish, without setting up for a preacher, could he not show in every way that the service of Christ was better than all else, and the knowledge of Him the most joyful thing in all this world? "Ye are my witnesses," said the Lord Jesus; and what sort of testimony did Cadet Magnus Kindred give from day to day? No matter how other men did, what had he done?

The final outcome of all these cogitations was a letter.

"Camp Golightly,
"July —, 18—.

"My Dear Mother:

"I don't see why you don't come East and look after your boy. How do you know what he is about here? Better come and see whether you want him home on furlough; that is, if that time ever comes, which I don't believe it will. Three, six, well nigh eight months yet before it will even be 'One hundred days to June.' Besides, they may find me in January, and then, instead of going home, I should go as straight to the Antipodes as if they'd shot me out of a catapult."

"Don't be uneasy; I'm not skinned more than twice a day on an average; skins grow fast here, and skinning is nothing when you get used to it. So the eels say. And I'm sure to take daddy's scalp when we get back to barracks. Not much of a possession, either, I must own."

"Do you realise, ma'am, that your son is that much detested and overworked and maligned being a yearling Corporal?—wearing chevrons, and sporting dignity enough for three Major-Generals? Come and see me drill the plebs; best fun you ever saw in your life—when you aren't one of 'em."

"But now, mother, this is serious. Do bring up our three girls respectably, so that when they come here for first-class camp, they'll know how to behave. But first of all, you've got to come yourself and brush me up. Buy your ticket for West Point, stop at Garrisons, cross in the ferryboat, and take the omnibus up the hill. Look out both sides all the way up; and the minute you see a grey uniform throw up his cap, get out. I suppose I might run it down the hill, but then if I get in con. and couldn't see you all the time you were here, it wouldn't pay. And Towser'd be sure to be round with his patent magnifiers."

"So I'll go to the edge of limits, and as you don't know where that is, look out. If you get lost, I'll put Towser on the track and he'll know where you are before you know it yourself. I wonder the Phil. Department don't set him to work on the lost Pleiad."

"Heigh-ho! I wish you were here this minute—with your bag full of gingercakes. I was on guard last night, and had nothing to eat but those old cast-iron sandwiches. So we put 'em in the reveille gun and they went off that way. Love to the girls. Don't bring 'em this time, but come yourself."

"Your (very) third class Corporal,

Charlemagne Kindred."

"I enclose a picture of myself which you may like to see."

Rien n'est impossible: il y a des voies qui conduisent à toutes choses; et si nous avions assez de volonté, nous aurions toujours assez de moyens. —Rochefoucauld.

"Like to see it!" Well, I suppose they did. It will not do to say that never was photograph so devoured; too many just such counterfeits of boys in grey have sped across this broad continent and been just so received; but it was well for this particular one that mere looking at things cannot wear them out.

At first, after one astonished look and exclamation they all broke down and cried. Partly for joy—for how handsome he was! and how those bell buttons did set him off!—partly for the wild longing it stirred to have him in their arms again. But with this came in another feeling: that keen, subtle pang which detects a change. Was their own wayward, careless, happy-go-lucky Magnus really hid away behind that perfectly buttoned coat? For even a year at West Point makes a wonderful change, which even accustomed eyes find marvellous; what wonder that these unwonted ones grew wide open as they gazed? He had graduated from the mild sway of persuasion and was under orders.

If the first half hour's study of the picture was full of joy, it may be doubted if the pain of the second had all the softening that really belonged to it. This exact, stately young man, her Magnus, who used to catch her in his arms and whirl her off her feet. This soldierly fellow their brother, who would swing himself by one foot from the apple tree and climb the lightning rod and hold on by his teeth to the window sill? They did not write all this out for themselves, but the smiles faded. Not their boy any longer, but Uncle Sam's.

"I should think they might have left him just a few curls!" said Violet, identifying one small grievance. "Oh, I wonder what Cherry will say?"

"I wish she'd come," said poor Mrs. Kindred, trying hard to speak calmly. "Cherry is always so wise. And I am such a goose," she added, feeling after a stray smile. "Of course, he could not be at West Point and a soldier and look like my little boy still."

"Let me run up with it to Cherry and bring her back," said Rose.

"No, no, leave it here!" cried the mother. "I cannot have it out of my sight one minute. Oh, girls! was there ever such a handsome fellow seen, anywhere?"

"Never, I do believe," said Rose. "Mother, his eyes haven't changed one bit. Just see how they laugh at you——" But that look stopped the words.

"What is going on here?" said a sweet young voice at the window. "What are you all studying out?" And Cherry's quick, soft steps came through the hall and into the room.

"Don't tell her! Don't tell her!" cried both the girls in an eager whisper.

"Come in, love," said Mrs. Kindred. "We were just wishing for you."

"Yes, come and tell us what you think," said Rose. And placing themselves each side of Cherry, the two girls marched her up to a place behind their mother's chair, where she could look over Mrs. Kindred's cap and see the picture, watching to hear what she would say.

But Cherry said never a word. She started, and gave a little cry at first sight of that wonderful presentation of her hero, but then she stood quite still; her fingers interlacing each other, the red and white playing hide and seek on her young face. That undefined change which they all felt came to her with a difference. For Magnus had never been hers to have and to hold, but only to gaze at from a safe distance; and suddenly, lo! he had become more wonderful than ever. Whether this put him further away or not gave Cherry no trouble just then; she had forgotten herself and the whole world at first sight of this picture of that astonishing person, Cadet Charlemagne Kindred.

"Do you think it looks like him, dear?" Mrs. Kindred said plaintively; and with a quick jump down to earth, Cherry answered in the most matter-of-fact way:

"It must, Mrs. Kindred; it is a photograph."

"That's true," said the mother. "I had forgotten that, Cherry; you always say just the right thing." And she turned round and held up her face to kiss the girl who had spoken with such calm wisdom. But poor Cherry found out then that her own nerves were overstrung, and she had no answer ready. And what sort of an unconscious feeling was it that made her turn away and take up the empty "Pach" envelope and look inside; could Magnus have put in a second copy for her? An action, by the way, it was a pity that young man did not see, walking, as he was just then, round Flirtation and making pretty speeches to the youngest Miss Fashion.

Cherry laid down the envelope and put on her hat.

"You are strange people not to like it," she said.

"Why, we do!" cried both the girls. "Only we felt just a little bad because it looks different."

"But you knew he would grow older, didn't you?" said Cherry, tying the hat-strings. "And you could not expect them to let his coat go flying open, in the Army."

"To be sure, that is just it," said the mother, gazing at her young soldier; "he is in the Army. Dear me! Dear me! But take off your hat and sit down, child; here is a whole long letter to read."

There could be but one answer to that. Cherry put herself on a foot cushion behind the table, just where she could have a good peep at the picture whenever she chose, and the reading began. But with the very first sentence Mrs. Kindred laid down the sheet and looked about her with bewildered eyes.

"He doesn't see why I don't come and look after him!" she said. "Why, I thought he had the whole Government to do that."

"And it's the first time Magnus ever asked such a favour of anyone, I am sure," said Rose.

"Oh, but you see," said Cherry from behind her table, "he is homesick, Mrs. Kindred, and wants you; and nothing else will do."

"He must have got over his homesickness long ago," said Violet.

"Just the first sort," said Cherry; "but you see it has come back again. It is four hundred and twenty-three days since he saw his mother." Her voice choked a little.

"Well, you are an almanac, there is no doubt," said Rose, quite failing to trace this exact tally to its true source. "Dear mamma, don't look so! It's just lovely of him to be homesick for a sight of you; he ought to be."

"And of course, you will go to him at once," put in Violet. "Then you can tell us all about him and the place and everything."

"Go to him!" These lively spirits, treading down impossibilities with their young feet, were too much for her.

"Why, girls, I haven't the money."

"You shall have my new winter bonnet—which was to be," said Rose.

"And all my Christmas presents which, perhaps, were not to be," said Violet. "I've got five cents besides in my strong box."

"And Uncle Thorn will help," said Rose. Mrs. Kindred held up her hand.

"Be quiet, all of you," she said, "or I shall lose my senses." She sat looking at that boy in grey who was homesick for the sight of her.

"It isn't 'all of us,' at all, mamma," said Violet, "for Cherry is as still as a mouse. Speak up, red lips, and give us your opinion."

Speaking low, as before, Cherry made answer that it would be safe to read the whole letter, before deciding upon anything, which was such a self-evident point of wisdom that they all laughed, and the reading began again.

"Now, mamma, don't stop till you get through, no matter what he says," pleaded Rose. And Mrs. Kindred tried, but in truth it was hard. Every sentence or two she would stop and look up helplessly, at the two faces that bent over her, or try for encouragement from Cherry's shining eyes, down by the table. Which eyes, however, were not always in sight. Cherry found some wonderful things in the letter, which the others missed; and so now and then retired into her own private meditations. "Bring up our three girls" and "when they come." Clearly, then, she also was expected at "first-class camp," whatever that might be.

"Cherry, you don't seem to hear, my child. What does he mean about their 'finding' him and his not coming home, but going to the Antipodes?"

"I think it is just some of his nonsense, Mrs. Kindred," said the girl, too happy to be alarmed. "He wants to make you come, and so he says all the queer things he can think of. You see West Point hasn't really changed him one bit."

"Dear fellow!" said the mother, with another look at the picture. "I think you must be right, Cherry. I am getting used to the dress a little. And I'd almost give my life to see him. But do you really think I could go so far alone, even if I had the money?"

With the happy courage of their years, the girls assured her that nothing possibly could be easier; get in and get out all right, and the railway companies would do the rest.

"Uncle Thorn will put you in, you know," said Violet, "and as for your getting out, when you are so near Magnus I don't believe anybody could keep you in the cars without handcuffs and fetters. You'll just fly out."

"But suppose I fly out too soon?" said Mrs. Kindred, to whose eyes the two thousand miles of space loomed up very large indeed.

"You will not," said Rose decidedly. "Conductor will not let you. Read on, mamma, please."

So Mrs. Kindred read on, only to get more hopelessly mixed as to the real state of things. "Skins" and "scalps"—third-class corporals and the Antipodes; laying it off on the West Point vernacular did not clear up the meaning a bit. And when the letter had been read carefully twice through from end to end, Mrs. Kindred laid it down and calmly announced that she should set off for the East as soon as she could get ready. And the girls kissed her and cheered her, and only wished they could go too.

And things turned out a good deal as they had said. Mr. Thorn not only bought her ticket, but put her in careful charge of the conductor. The girls packed the modest little trunk, stowing in all the gingercakes there was room for; Violet laid in a dainty handkerchief embroidered with the young cadet's initials, Rose added a small pincushion "to go in his pocket," and Cherry, with some demurs, sent him her last little drawing of the old apple tree which had been his own special private gymnasium. Cherry had a very pretty knack with her pencil. Then they all went to the station to see her off, even some of the neighbours joining in.

"It's a clear Providence your goin', Mrs. Kindred," said one good woman, whose husband had come West looking for "royal roads" to wealth and place. "Now you kin tell us all about it, for sen' Magnus went, we've been athinkin' o' sendin' our Bill. He's a dreffle shiftless feller: don't take after me, if I do say it. Bill just despises work in any shape or way, and so his father kinder thought maybe he'd do for West Point. They'd pull him through, likely, just as they do the rest, and then he'd he provided for."

Happily, the train came, and nobody could answer. The girls went home and held an indignation meeting, and Mrs. Kindred rolled swiftly away, very soon forgetting everything else in the one thought that she was going to see her boy.

Yes, it was a royal August day. The last summer month has a very different character in different places. In town, where, instead of

"Three months of sunshine bound in sheaves"

you have the same stored up in pavements and glowing from brown stone fronts, it is a time which men naturally enough choose for their vacation, and leave the city home behind them as fast and as far as they can. September rains may clear the air, but till then, away.

But in the Highlands, with here and there a rare exception, August is one of the very loveliest months of all the year. We say of a human face that it is finer after life has given its touches and done somewhat of its fine chiselling, and a little so does the last summer month surpass the two that went before. More sedate than jocund June; far calmer than July with its tempests and fervid heats, the shadows fall differently, the changed lights give you a new insight into things. The days are so exquisite partly because they are shortening; the flowers hurry out in troops. And nowhere in all the year do we have such a succession of wonderful sunset skies as in August. Then the temperature is for the most part perfect; the cool mornings and evenings only the fairer for the midday heat. It is a time when you can sit out, dine out, and well nigh take leave of the house altogether.

One wise thing inexperienced Mrs. Kindred remembered to do. From point to point as the miles rolled by, she sent postals to the girls at home, and one at the outset to Magnus. He knew just when to look for her. And so, when the day came, and dinner was over, Cadet Charlemagne reported his absence at the guard tent, and strolled away to Trophy Point, and seated himself to wait and watch. Too early yet by an hour; but he was restless and could do nothing else.

The day was cloudless now; the noon heats still in the air; the hazy, lazy hum of the locusts thrilled out on every side. Perhaps lazy is not just the word—but there are no inflections; they fight it out on one line, as few tired workers ever can.

A suspicion of real haze hung over Newburgh; the more distant hills looked faint and dreamy. Far up the river a long tow wound silently down, leaving its trail upon the quiet water; nearby a sloop or two went softly on, spreading their white wings to the breeze. There was just enough air stirring to lift and drop, lift and drop, the bunting on the flagstaff.

Magnus sat looking and listening, drawing a deep breath now and then. How long it seemed since he first saw Trophy Point and that flagstaff!—and it was really but fourteen months. He glanced up at the flag, just then shaking out its lovely folds. That had not changed. And he knew his mother had not; she would be just the same blessed person she had always been. But how about himself? and what would she think of him? And now, studying that question, Magnus took out mentally his own private stand of colours and looked at them, matching them with the flag overhead. It hung very still just then; and yet he could see a star here, a touch of the stripes there. Storms might beat it to ribands, but they could not change the colours nor make the flag come down.

"That weak strip of bunting!" thought Magnus, with a certain interlining of words not complimentary to himself. And other words written above his father's grave came quick and clear: "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever."

Magnus stood up and walked slowly along the little path to another point, whence he could see the "Central" road.

"I'm no end glad she's coming!"—so ran his thoughts. "But I just wonder how she'll like her boy? And there she comes!"

For now a puff of white smoke rose up at the mouth of the Breakneck tunnel and then fell into a long, curling line, and began to wind its way rapidly along the curves of the river road.

Magnus watched it, jumped on the seat to see it better still, and then tossed his cap into the air like any boy let out of school.

"Hurrah, old flag!" he cried; "there she comes! Now you'll see somebody worth looking at."

The white line rushed on, paused at Cold Spring, whirled along over the north bay and hid itself in the green Island woods, while Magnus, again waving his cap and this time so recklessly that it was near going down the hill, hurried away to Battery Knox, ran up on the green parapet, and stood to watch. The engine came puffing over the south bay as if the fate of the nation hung on its speed, dived into the Garrisons tunnel and slowed up.

How long it stayed!

"Just to put off mother and her little trunk!" thought Magnus, laughing to himself, and then getting such dim eyes that he could not see a thing. But he felt as if he could hug even the trunk.

And now, puff, puff, the train slowly moved away from the station, and the little ferryboat rang her bell. Of course, his mother was there, in the small, dark throng that came down to the river, and of course he must therefore really see her, but—Oh! it was too tantalising! I think at that minute Magnus would have given anything (except furlough) for a good glass.

The boat was off, steering across the river in a pretty curve to suit the tide; the smooth water turning back in two long lines of wrinkles in her wake.

Magnus leaped down from the parapet and was speeding away up the path at a great rate when there came a hail:

"Mr. Kin—dred!"

Magnus paused to see.

Clustered about the pathetic white column that looking calmly down on the silent river, tells in such vivid fashion its terrible tale of struggle and death, were three or four very summery looking girls: Miss Fashion, Miss Dangleum, and another whom Magnus did not know.

"Do come here, Mr. Kindred," pleaded Miss Dangleum.

Well, a cadet is nothing if he is not a squire of distressed damsels. Magnus turned and jumped down to where they stood.

"What's the matter?" he said; "has a fan gone down the hill? or is a parasol in trouble?"

"There, isn't that just like you!" said Miss Fashion. "No, nothing so serious as that."

"Miss Beguile has come," said Miss Dangleum, "and she asked you down to a private view of her eyes."

"Oh, Nina!" said Miss Beguile, in soft expostulation.

"We also wanted her to see yours," said Miss Nina daringly. "She doesn't believe cadets have any under those caps."

Magnus doffed his own particular cap, as in duty bound, but the view Miss Beguile got of his eyes was very short and unsatisfactory.

"Now find us a nice seat," said Miss Dangleum. "We've got lots of boodle."

"Certainly—at any other time," began Magnus, "but now——"

"You don't mean to say you've got a previous?" cried the girls.

"Very previous, indeed. I am just going to meet my mother."

"Your mother?" said Miss Beguile with the sweetest air of interest. "How charming!"

"Dear me, where does she come from?" drawled Miss Fashion.

But now Mr. Kindred's eyes came to the front and declared themselves.

"She comes from home," he said. "Excuse me, I am late"; and with another touch of his cap Magnus sprang away up the path about as fast as a man could go and not run.

"He has magnificent eyes," said Miss Beguile.

"Yes, but no use," said Miss Dangleum. "I cannot bring that man to terms, do what I will."

"Flinty, is he?" said Miss Beguile. "Well, I mean to get hold of him, girls, I give you notice. He's the sort of man I like."

"Is there any sort you don't like, Bessie?" said Miss Fashion.

"Oh, it's always great fun to have men round, no matter what sort they are," confessed her friend. "But the unapproachable is my dearest choice, every time."

Far through the memory shines a happy day.

—Lowell.

Magnus meanwhile went speeding on; leaping over space, and chafing at the lost minutes in terms not very flattering to his fair disturbers. But he was in good time, after all. The stage had waited for a West Shore train, and when Magnus reached the furthest and nearest point to which he might go, the horses with their light load were but just nearing the riding hall.

Slowly, slowly—how that stage did creep along. Magnus crossed the road, went back again, darted from one point to another; if only he could get a good glimpse inside! Now the lumbering thing turned a little; ah, it was just empty. No; surely that was a bonnet on the further seat; and now at this window looking out for him! And surely if ever a forage cap went high in air, one went then. But the moment it was within reach again Magnus pulled it far down over his own eyes. He had been at West Point more than a year, looking at tactical officers, professors, dignitaries of all sorts; with wild cadets and all kinds of girls; and now this was his mother's face, and like nothing else in all the world. The boy's heart gave a bound fit to burst something less elastic than a young heart always is.

As for poor Mrs. Kindred, when she saw that cap go up in the air, of course you know what happened to her. But she would not look away, even to cry, and sat gazing at that tall figure in grey and drawing the long sobbing breaths that bear such a very mixed freight. She even forgot to pull the check string, and would have been driven straight on if Magnus, in a voice stern enough for the first captain, had not bidden the driver stop. And it seemed so natural and fitting that her boy should pay her fare that when he pulled out a hidden quarter and passed it up to the driver no qualms of fear that he might be "skinned" for so doing disturbed her mind. Of course cadets have no more business with pocket money than they have with pockets, but she did not know that.

Magnus got one hand on his arm, gripping it with the other hand as if he thought she might run away; and drew her rapidly along through the nearest byways to a nook among rocks and trees that he deemed his own private discovery. Once there, hidden away in the sweet, cool shadow, with the river plashing softly far below, and a wood thrush ringing his chimes near by, Cadet Corporal Kindred threw his cap down on the grass, put his arms round his mother, and hid his face in her neck as if he had been six years old.

It was just what the mother needed. For at first sight, this tall, splendid fellow with braid and buttons and chevrons, straight as a line, and with all the saucy curls cut away, laid her under a spell. Except the first meeting kiss she had had hardly a sign from him unless that grip of her hand. But now, with her boy in her arms, he was her boy still, and she quite too happy for this lower world.

"Child," she said at last, "what have they done with your hair? Have you been sick?"

Then Magnus looked up and laughed; the old shine in his eyes making her heart leap.

"Regulations," he said. "I am nothing any more but a bundle of regulations, mother. Might about as well be a convict labeled 379."

"Regulations!" Mrs. Kindred repeated. "I wish I had the making of them."

"I wish you had, mother. And there are some three hundred and odd more boys here, who would confidingly hand the job over to you. Then we'd have pie every day for dinner and cake for supper, Saturday in the middle of the week, and no Monday morning recitations."

"But Magnus," said Mrs. Kindred, bewildered over this very mixed lot of grievances, "don't you have cake for supper?"

"Now and then a mysterious compound which goes by that name," said Magnus. "We are having it scientifically analysed to see whether it is all new-process granite, or whether one part mud comes in."

But here the innocent, perplexed face was too much for him. He almost shouted with fun, tossing his cap up higher than it had ever been.

"You blessed mother!" he said. "You haven't changed one bit—not a pin's point. There was one on your shoulder just now to scratch me, exactly as there always used to be."

"Oh, my dear!" cried poor Mrs. Kindred. "I did not mean to leave that pin there. I just stuck it in last night in the sleeping car."

"But you always did 'just stick it in,' you know," said Magnus disrespectfully; "and I never remember the time when it didn't just stick out. It wouldn't be you without a pin on your shoulder."

"It wouldn't be you if you were not a saucy boy," said the mother, and then they looked in each other's eyes and laughed; how happy they were!

"All right, mammy," said Magnus. "That pin gave me a welcome nothing else could. How are the girls?"

"The girls are lovely," said Mrs. Kindred. "Cherry has tried to fill your place, Magnus, ever since you came away."

"H'm, I don't know about that," said Magnus. "Tell her she can't have but half of it, fair and square."

"Oh, well, you know how I talk," said Mrs. Kindred. "She could not really, dear, nor anybody else. But she is the dearest girl, Magnus, and so wise. We have to get her to explain all the queer things in your letters."

"Do I write queer things?"

"Very; or they sound so to us. And I get quite worried sometimes. And then Cherry will say in that pretty way of hers, 'You know it is Magnus, Mrs. Kindred, so he could not mean that.'"

If two sparks flew from Cadet Kindred's eyes at these words, only the green moss at his feet was witness thereto. But, then, a very grave look came over his face. His mother watched him anxiously.

"You do not think I really meant that, dear?" she said. "No one on earth could fill my boy's place with me, Magnus."

"No, no; I understand," he said, without looking up. "But she deserves it so. Cherry is a great deal better than I am, mother."

The mother smiled contentedly. Very small improvement did her boy need for her. But she would not say that; just as well for him not to know how high he stood on the general merit roll. And it was a fine new West Point development, if Magnus was inclined to underrate his own perfections. Which, by the way, was not at all what that young man was doing. But Cherry's simple, unquestioning faith in him suddenly touched up his memory of certain things which (in spite of being "Magnus") he had done, and the recollection was not pleasant. Not very bad things, Oh, no! but by no means up to Cherry's standard.

"It's not worth while for her to come on before furlough," he said, thinking aloud.

"Her?" Mrs. Kindred repeated questioningly.

"Yes, any one of the girls," said Magnus. "You see, the winter journey is one thing; and then in the winter there's such a beastly lot of studying to do. And in the spring I shall be boning every minute. But wait till first-class camp. Or you might all come back with me from furlough—just for a first sight of the place."

"But my dear!" said Mrs. Kindred. "Why Magnus, you talk as if we had the Bank of England at our back."

"No, only me in front," said Magnus with a gleam of his bright eyes. "You don't suppose I am going to worry through the last two years here without a sight of you all? Wouldn't pay to bone rank if nobody came to see my chevrons. Just as well go on and get rattled like some of the rest of them."

"But my dear!" said poor Mrs. Kindred. "'Rattled' and 'bone' you've said twice. And you called your studies 'beastly.' I thought they taught English at West Point."

How Magnus laughed!

"There are Tacs over yonder," he said, "with a party of summer girls; and one of the girls offered me a lot of boodle. And the Com.'s out riding, and the Supe's gone to town, and the Arch-fiend is at the seaside."

"Now Charlemagne, stop!" said Mrs. Kindred. Magnus gave her another delighted hug.

"Oh mammy!" he said; "this is you, and no mistake. I didn't quite believe it was at first." And kissing first one hand and then the other, Magnus put them both back in her lap, and laid his cheek down upon them. The mother got one hand away and softly stroked the fine head.

"I do not understand about your hair, yet," she said.

"Regulations."

"And why do you wear such a thick coat this warm day, Magnus?"

"Regulations."

"Why my dear! Well, you might unbutton it at least," said Mrs. Kindred.

"Regulations."

Mrs. Kindred was silent a minute.

"I took my dinner in Poughkeepsie," she said, "because I was not sure of getting here in time for yours; and I know it is not good for you to wait."

"No ma'am, it isn't—here," said Magnus.

"But we can have supper at any time you like."

Magnus, without raising his head, gave a groan and wished they could.

"Well, we can," said Mrs. Kindred. "I can wait till late, or have it early, Magnus, just as suits you. What do you mean by sighing like that? What is in the way?"

"Regulations."

"Oh well!" said the mother, trying to smother her disappointment; "you have some other thing on hand? Never mind, dear, then we'll be together at breakfast."

"No, we sha'n't."

"Why not?"

"Regulations. We cannot have one single meal together while you are here, mammy."

And now, indeed, Mrs. Kindred had no more to say; the bands of red tape seemed to be winding all about her heart, and drawing very tight indeed. She had so pictured to herself the joy of once more handing her boy his cup of coffee. But it must be best for him, she said bravely to herself; or else they would not make such rules. And, whatever was best for him—

"What can you do, dear?" she said aloud, but with a plaintiveness that went to the boy's heart. He sat up and took her in his arms.

"I can do lots, mammy!" he said. "Never you worry one bit. I can't do it for breakfast, and I can't do it to-night, but some other day I'll cut supper, and we'll have it down here together. And we'll have picnics instead of dinner. And I'll walk with you every minute of release from quarters."

"Release!" The word jarred on the mother's ear; to what had she sent her boy? But then, whatever it was, it agreed with him splendidly; never had she seen Magnus in more jocund health and strength; life at its best was in every look and motion. And the eyes that flashed and sparkled at her were not the least in the world careworn or overworked. So Mrs. Kindred locked up all her dismayed pangs and questionings, and once more stroking her boy's cropped head, remarked that it was said to make the hair grow to cut it.

"I'll have a mop when I come out, then," said Magnus. "How does Cherry wear her hair now? same old way?"

"Oh yes!" said Mrs. Kindred; "only it's never twice just the same. You know her curls arrange themselves—as yours used to, Magnus."

"Disarrange was the word for me. If anybody cuts hers off, I'll shoot him."

"I think somebody did cut one off once, without being shot," said Mrs. Kindred. Magnus coloured.

"That was only one," he said. "Why didn't you bring them all along? The girls, I mean."

"Why, you unreasonable boy," said his mother; "you expressly bade me not."

"I had been here so long, I forgot that you always minded," said Magnus, with a saucy look.

"Well, I did not always," said Mrs. Kindred; "but the girls could not have come off in such a moment, Magnus; they were not ready."

"Girls never are. They'd learn, if they had a week or two in camp. Bang goes the reveille gun—and in just two minutes you have to be dressed and out in line, swearing that 'Kindred, C.' is present and accounted for."

"Swearing, Magnus?"

"Well, some of the men make the statement pretty loud. I am one of the mild kind, and 'roar gently.'"

"Yes, I know what your gentle roars amount to," said his mother derisively. "But Magnus, do they really make you dress in two minutes?"

"By my watch."

"But you haven't got a watch," said the perplexed mother.

"And therefore am subject now and then to miscalculations."

"Well, West Point has not changed you yet, to hurt," said the mother, smiling at him. Magnus took her tender hands and put one on each side of his face.

"Mammy," he said, "it is the jolliest thing to see you sitting there, puzzling your dear head over my grinds. I could cry, if I wanted to. But I say, when you do bring the girls, don't give 'em time to get ready. They shan't come here looking as if they'd never had anything before, but had got it now, sure."

"But our girls have always had enough, you know, Magnus, and they are not likely to have any more," said Mrs. Kindred, cutting both knots.

"They are worth all the girls I have seen here, multiplied by twelve dozen," said Magnus. "Oh, mother, why didn't they come! But I tell you, you'll have your hands full when they do. Violet will make a sensation. And Rose—I think True will be fathom deep at first sight of Rose; he likes quiet, sweet, strong girls."

"I should think most people would," said Mrs. Kindred. "And how about Cherry?"

"I said nothing about Cherry."

"Am I not to bring her?"

"Oh yes! she had better come too," said Magnus. "Mammy, it is as good as a month of Saturdays just to look at you. You are the handsomest woman on the Post."

And now pink tinges came upon the sweet pale face; and Mrs. Kindred was certainly the happiest woman anywhere about.

With whom doth Time gallop withal?

—Shakespeare.

Alas. Time did not slacken his pace for those two people. After that very first day, when Mrs. Kindred really took in the astounding fact that she was there, she began to count almost the seconds as they ticked away, and grudged even those spent in sleep.

She would sit far on into the night, looking over from her window to where her boy's tent rose up sharp and white in the moonshine; and with the first drum-beat in the morning was at her post, sending off her heart and her blessing to that grey line where Magnus stood. If he was on guard she watched for glimpses of his tall figure as he went up and down, posting reliefs, and in a sort loved the whole white battalion that marched away to dinner because one particular white helmet rested on his head. And never was there a more devoted frequenter of the camp, as she waited there on the visitors' seats for his moments of leisure, happy between whiles that he was at least nearby.

Then she steadied her nerves to bear the sharp reports in the Light Battery drill, and watched manœuvres and evolutions as eagerly as if she understood them all. How stately Magnus looked in his various trappings; how nimbly he tumbled in and out of the caissons. And when the sergeant shouted out at parade:

"Company A, one corporal absent!"—how thankful that particular mother was that it could not possibly be her son.

It was astonishing to see such honours and cares resting upon his young head; drilling plebs, posting sentinels; no wonder he had changed. Was the change in him all for the better? The mother could not quite tell. When Magnus was with her that joy swept everything else away; but sometimes, as she sat alone, her thoughts worked hard, and many things came in to tangle and perplex them.

Loitering about the camp in this way, and never missing a formation, Mrs. Kindred also could not miss a good deal else. The Point was not crowded; but the summer girl—and the summer girl's supposed chaperon—were in sufficient force; and as young people nowadays think their words worth hearing, Mrs. Kindred did not need to strain her ears nor give undue attention to know much that was said and done.

It was a glimpse into a life unguessed before. Her own had been simple, earnest, and useful, from her youth up. The three girls at home were as merry as crickets, and overflowing with fun and frolic; but the cricket fun—if fun it be—was not more guileless and true-hearted than theirs.

But now, sitting under the trees and watching her boy from a distance, Mrs. Kindred would sometimes hear, close at hand, some word or sentiment that made her start and look round, with a great wish that the girl's mother were there; and behold, quite often she was. Then this mother would get up and change her seat.

Small use. Near the new place sat a tall young lady in tennis rig set free, while her waist was drawn in until playing must have been hard work. A game had been on, for Miss Viny's cheeks were flushed, and she still brandished her racket. She was talking over her shoulder to a semi-young officer.

"I think you have a great deal too much to do with Captain Chose, Miss Viny," said this gentleman. "You know he is in a very peculiar position with regard to his wife."

And the handsome girl, flashing round at him her daring eyes, made answer:

"That only makes him the more interesting!"

Mrs. Kindred shivered slightly, and once more changed her seat.

And now she got among a bevy of girls who were talking of Magnus; they fluttered in and settled down all around her, too eager over their subject to know or care who heard their talk.

"I'll get hold of him somehow. I'm bound to do it," said a dark girl in very extreme costume. "I told you I would, and I will."

"Not worth the bother," said a plump little damsel in pink. "There are plenty more."

"Not plenty with eyes like his; there's not such another pair in the Corps. They're just heavenly."

"Yes, aren't they?" said the plump girl. "When he looks at you it makes you feel queer all over."

"I was afraid you were going to say, all through," said Miss Beguile; "and you know there isn't any 'all through' to you, Kitten."

"Now I call that too bad," said the Kitten. "When I am universally known to be all heart."

"Good you are," said Miss Saucy, "for you give everyone a piece and the supply might fail. But there's a good deal of you, such as it is, Kitten. You'll turn the three F's, if you live long enough."

"Some people don't think there's too much of me," said the Kitten, pouting.

"About half the Corps, I should judge. Now I believe in one grand master passion, don't you know. I think it's dear."

"It's a passion for a master—if you're in love with Mr. Kindred," said a fourth girl. "He'll manage you, Bessie. Make you behave."

If anybody had had time to notice the quiet little mother sitting there, he would have seen a very perceptible start, and a pair of eyes as indignant as such tender eyes could be. Those girls after her young magnate? Mrs. Kindred was fit to go that moment to headquarters and demand a cordon of red tape to surround her boy. But she could do nothing; could not speak to the girls, could not (alas) even shake them. Then she seemed to remember seeing him bow to these very ones; and with a certain dress-coat air, which now Mrs. Kindred marked as one of the new things about Magnus that disturbed her.

What if Cherry had seen and heard it all? And suddenly Mrs. Kindred knew why it was Cherry she thought of, and not Rose or Violet.

Here was a new and difficult complication. Yes, of course, it was all natural, the mother felt, and plain enough now she thought of it. Whether Cherry herself yet knew, or not, she would, just as soon as Magnus took a fancy to somebody else. Could he do that, after having once known her? Mrs. Kindred waited till the next relief went on, and Magnus within the guard tent was quite out of sight, and then went to her room to think and to pray.

Should she talk to Magnus?—no; skating is generally safer than navigation in broken ice. And the next day but one she was to go home.

No further sight of her boy could be hoped for that night, and Mrs. Kindred shut herself in and watched the silent camp long after the sweet "curfew" bugle had cried to every light:

"Put it out! Put it out! Put it out!"

The next day rose fairer than ever. Magnus came off at eight o'clock with "old guard privileges," and having also kind permission from the authorities to dine with his mother in the woods.

Now the ordering and preparing of this dinner had been a great joy to Mrs. Kindred; what though the correct dainties could not be had. Green corn to boil was an impossibility, even if a kettle could be found; and home-made rolls were far out of reach, and not all the canned things that were ever turned out could replace her own home-fed chickens and home-cured ham. The supplies from the baker were fresh and clean and well looking—yet Mrs. Kindred sighed, thinking of Violet's loaves of cake, and Cherry's pies.

Magnus, however, was not so critical, he did not see even such as these every day, and so enjoyed everything to his mother's heart's content. And as she feasted on her boy there was really no lack anywhere. The fair August lights and shades chased each other among cedars and oaks, the locusts hummed; the birds that had nestlings sped swiftly to and fro, bringing food. Fall after fall of rocky woods and winding road lay at their feet; below all, the white camp in its green setting, then the river—never twice the same. Far up in the north the Catskills lifted their blue, changeless heads.

It was all so wondrous and so new to Mrs. Kindred that she was watching it, taking it in, even when she thought she had no eyes but for Magnus. The hills bewitched her; the distant blue, the nearer green; on all sides she seemed to hear the silent chanting of her favourite psalm:

"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."

Surely this was a place wherein to grow "strong in the Lord"; a place where to remember:

"Thou wilt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures."

"Mammy, you don't eat," said Magnus, beginning on another small pie. "You might venture—just a little. I think there'd be enough left for me."

"My dear, I have too much," said the mother. "Magnus, don't eat any more of that pie; it is not Cherry's make, remember."

"Don't I know it! But her pies are across the continent, worse luck. It is good the know-nothing girls here don't try their hand. Shade of Scipio Africanus, what a poisoning of cadets there would be! Dr. Senna says that if it wasn't for Pretty Newcomb and her candy—with a sprained ankle now and then—he shouldn't have a man on the sick list."

"Well, that is good," said Mrs. Kindred heartily; "the place must agree with you all. Magnus, do you know many people here?"

"Three hundred cadets, more or less, and too many officers quite intimately," said Magnus, trying the cake. "Besides the bugler and the orderly."

"Any ladies?"

"Quite some."

"I really do wish they taught English here," said poor Mrs. Kindred. "You are just as bad as ever, Magnus."

"Worse!" But Magnus laughed up into her eyes with a look that to the mother negatived that. What eyes his were! And that reminded her.

"Have you ever met a Miss Kitten?"

"The cadets' 'pet Kitten'? Well, I should say I had, rather."

"Magnus; I do not like to hear you talk so."

"But that is what she is, mammy, so why shouldn't I say it?"

"Always speak respectfully about women, my dear."

"Women? Well, let her pass for that," said Magnus, unconsciously quoting Portia.

"You do know her then?"

"Enough to take off my cap when I meet her and walk while she talks," said Magnus. "Why mammy, what makes you so curious about the Kitten?"

"I am interested in anyone you know."

Mrs. Kindred went on, silently putting the remains of the feast into the basket. Magnus, leaning on one elbow, watched the hands that did their work so quietly and well. Then he bent down and kissed first one hand and then the other, touching them with cheek as well as lips. And Mrs. Kindred left her basket, and coaxed his head down on her lap, softly stroking and caressing it. Magnus drew a long, deep breath.

"Mammy," he said, "they don't grow beds of Roses and Violets out here, nor anywhere, I guess, but at home."

"It is you that have to grow 'out here,' Magnus."

"Yes'm. How much?" said Magnus; "I'm a good half-inch taller already."

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Kindred, quoting her favourite lines:

"A whole half-inch, Magnus?"

Magnus laughed.

"Ah, mammy," he said, "you can't keep dark worth a cent. Truly, a whole half-inch. Call it three-quarters."

"I must remember and tell the girls," said Mrs. Kindred.

"Yes, don't forget," said Magnus ironically. "Charge your memory, and tie a red string round every finger. Then tell 'em the first minute they meet you at the station, mother, and have it off your mind."

"You are a very saucy boy," said Mrs. Kindred, trying to look grave.

"West Point is a developing place, as some wise M. C. said last June. Have the girls grown, mother? How tall is Cherry?"

"Grown a little, I think, in several ways. Every day I see her, I think she could not be sweeter—and then the next day I think she is," said Mrs. Kindred warmly.

"Bless her dear heart!" Magnus remarked under breath.

"Sometimes I think she works too hard," said Mrs. Kindred. "I really believe that child carries a book in her pocket, and studies every chance she gets. She has coaxed the other girls into a sort of class, and for two hours every day they study together."

"Good for her!" said Magnus; "good for 'em all. Studies are extremely developing. I wish I could send 'em all mine. I think I have grown enough."

"I suppose you carry a book in your pocket, too," said Mrs. Kindred, taking her turn at the irony.

"Haven't got one," said Magnus; "or doubtless I should. The books are on hand, but the pocket is wanting."

"No pocket?"

"No'm. Now you have an idea of desolate destitution." And Magnus raised himself on one elbow again, drew out a white handkerchief from his sleeve, and after a melancholy wave in the air, tucked it back again.

"But my dear!" said Mrs. Kindred.

"Ah, you see what development costs here," said Magnus. "No wonder I have shot up into the air, that being the only place where I couldn't run against regulations. Just notice to-night at parade what preternaturally tall men we have in the Corps. You see there are no Tacs up overhead,"—and Magnus gazed pathetically into the serene blue.

"Stop fooling," said his mother. "Magnus, if you have no pockets—why, I never heard of such doings!—then where do you put anything?"

"Up my sleeve."

"Nonsense; your sleeve will not hold much to speak of."

"No," said Magnus; "and so what it holds is generally not spoken of. In winter we have a resource—a small one; but in summer we should be hard up if it wasn't for the girls."

"What have the girls to do with your pockets?" said Mrs. Kindred rather severely.

"Would fill them, if we had any. As it is, they fill their own and empty them at our feet."

"Magnus, I don't know you," said his mother; "I never heard you talk in that way at home, and I do not like it now."

"Well, it's the truth," said Magnus. "The Kitten threw a pear after me yesterday, as I went by; and only this morning Miss Midget pelted the men who were at Derby Drill, from her basket of peaches. What can a man do? You must speak of people as you find them."

Mrs. Kindred drew a longer sigh than her boy had done.

"If that is for me, you needn't," said Magnus; "Kittens aren't lions, mammy. I'm better off than Daniel, yet. Only his detail of an angel stayed by him,—and mine comes—and will go!" And Magnus brought the beloved hands up to his face again.

Poor Mrs. Kindred! it was all so strange and sweet, and perplexing and delightful, that she was on the very edge of a burst of tears. That touch of her boy's fingers and face, so long unfelt, and for so long to be again, just wrung her heart. And when so many other confusing ideas came to tangle themselves in with this, no wonder her nerves got out of order. And so, as such dear people will, finding earth altogether too much for her, Mrs. Kindred took refuge where the ways are marked out, and the standing sure.

"I am glad you reminded me of Daniel," she said, her voice faltering in spite of her. "Yes, 'My God will send his angel' to look after you."

"He has," put in Magnus.

"But dear," the mother went on, "Daniel risked everything, for loyalty to his master. I should go home with a glad heart if I knew that was true of you."

How sweet the summer silence lay between the two. The soft plash of the river quickened just now by the swell of a passing boat; the bird notes waking up a little as the day wore on; the lengthening shadows, the descending sun. And no human voice broke the hush. If a sigh came to Mrs. Kindred's lips, it was stayed there; if deprecating, excusing words were ready with Magnus, not one came out. Hand in hand, so they sat; but presently the mother's heart went up in such eager, wordless prayer that, except that hand-clasp, she was conscious of nothing else. Magnus, glancing at her furtively from under his cap, saw the closed eyes and the rapt face; but even as he looked, the eyes opened and lifted with a glow of love and trust that sent his own face down, down into her lap.

"Well?" she said gently. "How is it dear? Are you like that?"

"Not much!" Magnus answered, sitting straight up again, and gazing off at the shining river. "About as little as you'd like to have me. But mother, you don't know how hard it is."

"Perhaps I do," she said. "The world power does not go by places, nor is the devil shut up to any State. Didn't you tell me that you had always at least a storm flag out?"

"Did you guess what I meant?"

"Cherry guessed," said Mrs. Kindred. "She said you never took your flag down, even on the stormiest days."

"Like Cherry!" cried Magnus. "Her true heart could not even imagine anything else. Well, mother, that's what it ought to mean—and what it does mean, for that blessed old banner down yonder. The toughest wind that blows never finds that flagstaff empty, from reveille to retreat. And in the deadest sort of a calm you can see a touch of blue and a gleam of red clinging and glowing about the top of the old pole."

"And for you, Magnus? What does it mean for you?" the mother said anxiously.

"Oh, nothing very bad!" Magnus answered. "Only sometimes I seem to fly my storm flag in fair weather."

There was a long, quiet pause. Magnus waited for his mother to speak, and her words were not ready. The young cadet, looking at her again, found no shocked expression, as he had feared; the tender face was grave and thoughtful, but calm; the eyes gazing out far beyond him.

"Dear," she said at last, "are all the men in your Company Christians?"

"All the men in my Company? Well, I should say not."

"Or all your special associates?"

"Why, no! Not by several and many."

"Magnus, suppose this pretty place was suddenly peopled with aliens, and not an American left but the one in charge of the colours. What should he do?"

"Hang out the garrison flag, if it blew to tatters!" said Magnus.

Mrs. Kindred laughed, but her eyes filled and her lips trembled.

"Yes, dear," she said. "So do."

"Everything goes away," said the Dryad: "goes away as the clouds go, never to return." —Hans Andersen.

That was the last long talk they had together. A brief walk next morning before eight o'clock; another—ah, how short—to the brow of the hill where they had met that first day; and then Magnus pulled his cap over his eyes and strode away to his hidden nook, and the mother went quietly sobbing down the hill. Alas! how fast the minutes flew now that had seemed so loitering when she came.

As for Magnus, he watched the ferryboat every foot of the way over; waved his cap frantically to the cluster of dark spots that went up the sloping path to the station; then listened for the roar of the coming train with an intensity that made him start when he heard it. With a great pang he saw the pliant black line wind out from between the cloven rocks and swing along to the station, almost holding his breath in the minute's hush that came next. Hardly a minute; then puffs of black smoke curled up into the air, the engine gave its usual snort at such trifles as love and life and parting, and the train glided on into the tunnel, flew out across the bay, and past the Island; the trail of smoke fainted and faded away on the sweet summer air, and Cadet Kindred shook his fist at the whole thing.

What right had that black engine to carry his mother off before his very eyes? And what business had he to be lingering there behind her? If it could have been done suddenly and quietly, I believe Magnus would have resigned on the spot, and taken the next train home.

But red tape has its use. What letters and papers and statements such a step would involve; what answering of official questions; and Cadet Charlemagne Kindred did not feel prepared to state publicly that he, who had survived to be a yearling corporal, must now resign for homesickness. A drum-call in the distance also lent its persuasions. The usual is generally, after all, the easiest thing to do, so Magnus put his cap in position, and set his face towards camp and duty. But taking off the cap again, he first bowed very low towards the steadfast old hills through whose cuts and chasms his mother had just vanished, kissing his hand to her in mute farewell; then resolutely walked away.

There was a pleb drill that afternoon, and with the way one has of being good by proxy, Mr. Kindred kept his little set of men to their work most unflinchingly, with small allowance for mistakes, and none at all for inattention. Such zeal bestowed upon himself would have wrought wonders. To hear him, you would have thought a mathematical line the only easy position, and any sort of twist or bend that might be ordered merely a pleasing variety of the same. "Brace up"—the poor, distracted fourth classmen felt sure he must have done it in his cradle.

Miss Dangleum came by and paused to look—and Magnus was sublimely unconscious of her presence; the Kitten held out a box of bonbons—and he went by at the double-quick. Then Miss Saucy joined the group, with Miss Bessie Beguile, and finally, that young lady's mother came slowly on the scene.

"What's the matter here?" said the panting chaperon. "How you girls do run! What are you looking at? Who's fainted? These drills are positively barbarous!"

"Oh, don't you just wish he would faint?" cried the Kitten. "Such fun! Then we'd all rush in with our smelling-bottles, while Mrs. Beguile ran for water!"

"While I—ran—for water!" quoth Mrs. Beguile, with a thought of her rather stout proportions.

"But you'd be the only one, you know, mamma," said Miss Bessie sweetly. "Because we couldn't invade the guard tents alone."

"Nor in company, either," said Miss Saucy. "Nobody's going to faint, Mrs. Beguile, unless it's me, because we can't get Mr. Kindred to look at us."

"My dear!" said Mrs. Beguile. "I am surprised! Never show such special interest. Why, you will turn the young man's head."

"Just what we're after," said the Kitten. "And what we'll do, too. I'll make him look at me—I vow I will!"

The words were spoken half aloud, but the young lady got not a glimpse of the eyes in question. Corporal Kindred's words of command rang out minus let or hinderance; and if the girls put themselves in the way, he led his men straight on, and they had to get out of it.

"I don't mind," said Miss Saucy, after one of these raids. "It's fun. And he can't help seeing us!"

"It's ravishing to hear anything in such a voice," said Miss Beguile. "If I were going to be shot, I should like to have him give the order."

"It wouldn't be exactly what you call going off the stage to slow music," said Miss Saucy, as a sharp and imperative "Halt!" came from the young corporal's lips. The girls refreshed themselves with a prolonged titter, the weary plebs dropped down upon the grass. Magnus walked slowly down the road.

"I wonder if one might venture to address his High Mightiness, in these his moments of comparative leisure?" said Miss Dangleum. "They are so pernickity about drills. Mr. Kindred!" (softly and experimentally). Magnus turned within a yard of the young lady and paced back.

"Oh, Mr. Kindred! If there was a snake here, could you come and kill it? Wouldn't a rattlesnake be against regulations?"

And now there was a smothered laugh among the plebs. But the corporal turned and took his way past the ladies again, and gave no sign.

"Mr. Kindred!" (very pleadingly) while one pretty hand held out a box of brown chocolates and another a red-cheeked peach. In apparently deep abstraction Mr. Kindred once more paced down the road.

"I'll throw it at him! I vow I will," said Miss Saucy. "If I could knock his cap off, I should die radiant."

And she did her best. But some puff of adverse wind, some swerve in the fair hand, spoiled all; the corporal's cap maintained its position; the peach fell harmlessly at his feet.

"Attention!"

The plebs started, and so did the girls.

"I'll go home after that," said Miss Saucy. "The only thought left to make life bearable is, that he'll come back after drill and pick it up." But he did not.

Parade followed drill, and supper came after parade; and then in the cool evening light people began to gather for band concert. What pleasure Magnus had had there with his mother, night after night! This time he did not want to see anybody or hear anything. Yet the evening's witchery kept him out of his tent, and the unearthly sweetness from some of the brass instruments drew him, little by little, into the group around the band. Pretty soon Rig touched him on the shoulder.

"Say, Kin, Miss Dangleum wants you."

"What for?"

"Wants to show you how she's done her back hair."

"Don't get off any grinds on me to-night," said Magnus, "I'm not in the mood."

"What shall I tell her?"

"What you like!"

"All right. I'll go back and report that you are out of town, and have left a bear to keep house."

Which apparently he did, to judge by the shout of laughter that went up.

"Oh, do bring him!" cried a pretty voice. "I do so dote upon bears. Oh, I think they're dear! Which one is Mr. Kindred?"

"You'll know by his eyes, when he turns round," said Miss Saucy.

"But that's the only way I can ever tell cadets apart—by their eyes," said Miss Midget. "Is that the reason they order 'Eyes front' so much?—so that the officers can know which one to report?"

Another laugh followed.

"You'd better believe old Towser would know, if they hadn't any eyes at all," said Randolph, "or if he hadn't!"

"Well, he hasn't, much," said Miss Saucy.

"Stands to reason," said Rig, "because he's got 'em all over—diffused. In the back of his head, and on his shoulder-straps, and the white stripe down his trousers, and the point of his nose."

"That's awfully funny!" said Miss Beguile. "Must make it awfully lively for all of you."

"Just does. The only enjoyment he has in life is skinning cadets. So it's 'Skin 'em! Skin 'em!' all the day long. Too much shirt-collar at breakfast, and too little coat above belt at drill."

"And too much hair," said Mr. Carr. "I declare, when Towser comes rubbing up and down the back of my head, I feel as if I was a baby getting washed and dressed."

The girls clapped their hands in applause.

"Such pretty hair, too," said the Kitten, "or would be, I'm sure, if one could see it." Mr. Carr made a profound reverence.

"Thank you so much," he said. "Awfully good of you. Wish you'd give Towser a hint."

"Wherever did the poor man get such a name?" said Miss Beguile.

"Simple and descriptive," said Mr. Carr.

"Look here, D. T.," said Rig, "I wouldn't be as funny as I could, not every time, don't you know. You might get the blues for disrespect. He's sure to be round."

"And why do you call him 'D. T.'?" demanded another girl.

"Doubletimes it every day," said Rig. "Gets a late in the morning, and a cold absence at night."

"But what can we do to rouse Mr. Kindred from this awful abstraction?" said Miss Dangleum.

"Let's give him homeopathic treatment," said the Kitten. "D. T., double-time it over to the band and bid them play 'Love Not.'"

"I'll go," said Rig. "He won't get there till the drum beats. 'Love Not'—I never heard of such a tune in my life."

"You will—first time you make love to the wrong girl," said Miss Saucy. "Now go!"

"They won't do it for him," said Carr; "they can't—unless the Com. or the officer in charge says so. You'll have to go yourself. Towser's in charge."

"Send the Kitten," said Miss Dangleum. "That will just fit. Here, Puss, draw in your claws and stretch out your paws, and go get an order for the band to play 'Love Not.'"

So the écru dress flitted away, and the others watched with deep interest.

"He won't do it," said Randolph.

"Yes, he will," said Miss Dangleum. "Puss is a match for the whole canine contingent."

And so it proved. The band finished the fantasia they had in hand, took their short rest, and struck off into the old, time-worn air.

And now everybody stopped to listen; some because they remembered it so long ago, and some because it was so old that it was new.

Magnus Kindred knew it well. The flood of new music had spread but slowly over his own little home region, and this air had always been a favourite with his mother. In the old childish days, before sorrows came, he had many a time heard her sing it. And now, amid the sweet rendering of the band, he seemed to hear her dear voice still, and the old words kept sounding in his ears:

"Never!" Magnus said to himself. Not one of those four beloved people at home could ever swerve from him. What stuff those song makers did write!

He followed the band through the variations and interlude. Then began the simple air again; and the words would come:

A great pang shot through the boy's heart. Could such things happen to him? How had his mother looked? Magnus turned away from the band and hid himself in the dark recesses of his tent.

So Miss Dangleum failed for that time. But "To-morrow is also a day," says the proverb. And it is not in human nature to be always insensible to blandishments. Mr. Kindred found himself scanning his wonderful eyes in the small glass quite oftener than was needed. He could also pick out Miss Dangleum's red parasol clear across the plain from all its compeers; and knew at least half of Miss Beguile's fans by experience. She declared that he had broken a quarter of them, but this statement is plainly incorrect.

The Point filled up to crowding as the encampment neared its close, and introductions, walks, picnics, were multiplied, and every cadet who liked the fun could have enough of it.

Magnus Kindred, for one, had about all he could manage, Rig's favourite cousin was always on his hands when Rig himself was on guard or in confinement. This happened pretty often, and as Rig was his "wife" Magnus could not object. Chapman's sister was often turned over to him because Chapman's best girl was also at the Point.

Then there was every now and then some plain, unnoticed girl whom Magnus in his chivalry would look after and take out, giving her a royal good time. There were guests at some of the houses where the young cadet had been made welcome, and he must help amuse them. And finally (for my hero was every inch a man), there were wits and beauties with whom he liked to stand at least as well as the best. It was all very enticing, and he was so lonely when his mother had gone that petting of any sort felt good.

So that last part of August was one grand whirl, in which common sense and right ways got drawn in and danced a breakdown. At least that was what Cadet Kindred said of it himself in his calmer moments. For "Kindred—late at roll-call," "Kindred—absent at supper," had been read out too often from the blue list after parade.

Magnus was on guard the last night but one of Camp Golightly, and between reliefs took time to foot up his accounts. What had he to show for those weeks since his mother went away? Or (excepting only her visit) for the whole of "Yearling Camp"? Not much, he thought to himself with a curl of his lip. The little pleasure he had given was easy and cheap; the pleasure he had had—well, it did not look very bright to him now. Not very satisfactory.

It seemed rather small business to take all the sweets he could get: compliments, flattery, and boodle, from girls to whom he neither would, could, nor should, give more in return than a walk or two; perhaps only the convenient phrase:

"Thanks, awfully."

And that very phrase was his mother's aversion.

And it was no end mean, to laugh at a thing and then afterwards score it sharply. Was he still "training with the wrong crowd"—only of girls this time?

Then he changed his ground and came up on the other side. How far had he been a power for good in all those weeks? How much stronger or purer had any company been for his presence? Who had learned to think sweeter things of religion for his glad life? Whose doubts had weakened in the light of his faith? Was anyone more ready to swear fealty to Christ for his constant witnessing to the blessedness of the service? Nay, Cadet Kindred knew, now that he took time to think, what had ailed some of the merrymaking. It jarred his conscience. And sometimes he had felt it at the time.

That Sunday afternoon, when he had walked about with Miss Dangleum, and smiled at her vapid infidelities, the twinge had been so sharp, as he thought of his mother in the old porch at home, drawing strength and knowledge from her open Bible, that he never did that thing again. But he had laughed at Miss Beguile's jests about church and church service, and the very next day, in chapel, had taken the sugar plums she offered under cover of her fan.

He had been indignant when some girl, displeased with the sermon, shook her fist at the preacher then and there. But perhaps she had never been taught any better—and what had been his own criticisms of that very sermon? Just as open as he dared make them.

Cadet Kindred felt rather sick of himself, on the whole.

"That's a large place in which to keep your colours!" he said, looking down into his grey sleeve.

In some things he had stood firm. The first brandy snap he got hold of at Mrs. Beguile's picnic went over the cliffs at Fort Putnam, to the great excitement of a nest of young squirrels. And the first bonbon drugged with rum followed: first, and last.

"But, easy and cheap!" he repeated to himself. "I was not going to be tricked into taking that stuff. I had said I wouldn't."

What else had he "said"?

Coming off next morning with O. G. P., Magnus got leave to go to the trunkroom, and hunted out a little copy of the Church covenant which he knew his mother had packed in with his other things. Then, under one of the shadowing trees of Fort Clinton, he lay on the grass and read it over.

"Unto Him, the Lord, you do now give yourself away, in a covenant never to be revoked, to be His willing servant forever."

Was it like a good servant to listen to slighting talk about his Master's laws? To be silent when the Name that is above every name was lightly spoken? Could he not rise and go from any company? How long would he be quiet if his mother's name was handled so? He did always wince, he was glad to remember, but who had been the wiser?

"Not even a poor little storm flag!" he said bitterly to himself. "And these are but catspaws that come to me."

Magnus turned over on his elbow, and looked across to the flagstaff, where the colours were having a lively time in the breeze; looked and looked, his eyes growing very grave, his lips firm.

"You're worth a half hundred of me, old comrade," he said, with a reverent wave of his cap. What was that his mother had said in her last letter?

"Thou, therefore, my son, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." Turning back after a while to his former position, Magnus found himself face to face with a pile of muslin and lace, of which Miss Saucy was the fair centre. She stood a little away, gazing pensively at him, her white kids clasped in what might be either entreaty or dismay.

"Oh, there's nothing the matter, is there?" she said. "I was so afraid you'd had a sunstroke, or something. And you know you promised me a walk this morning."

"Did I?"

"Yes, and it's very rude of you to forget it."

"Well, it is not too late for the walk," said Magnus, slipping the little book up his sleeve, and putting himself by the young lady's side. "Which way?"

"Round the plain. I mustn't get out of sight, because I have to walk with Mr. Chapman at twelve."

"'Have to' expresses it."

"You shan't make fun of him," said Miss Saucy. "Of course, he's not some people,—but then he never forgets his walks, which some people do. What was that book you were studying?"

"Regulations."

"Blue book?"

"No, white."

"Then it was the black one. Boning discipline! I don't believe it. Not you."

Magnus bowed.

"Let me see, then," she said. "I know it's just some old thing with a love letter inside. Give it to me!"

Magnus drew out the little book and handed it over, but Miss Saucy was a very bewildered girl indeed, as she turned the pages.

"What?" she said. "I can't make head or tail of this thing. What sort of stuff is it, anyhow?"

"Stuff that will wear."

"It'll wear you—wear you out," said Miss Saucy. "You are at least two years older than you were last night. Oh, I don't know anything about religion, except the outside of course, don't you know; but that's enough. So the Chaplain has given you the points, and you're going to pose; Cadet Kindred, the serious man. Well, it'll be a variety. Come, let's go; I'll be the first to have a walk with him, anyhow. Will this do-o-o?" said the girl, drawling out her words, and bringing the corners of her little mouth as far down as they would go. "Mr. Kindred, what will be a profitable subject for us to discuss, as we take our solemn way under the brooding trees that shadow the path once called Flirtation? The low state of grace in the Corps, and what to do about it? Then when we've settled that we might turn our brilliant light upon the girls and go for them."

"You said you wanted to walk on the plain," Magnus answered her.

"Plain's too gay. Do you think, Mr. Kindred, you could lend me your lovely book just till to-morrow? It might do me no end of good. And you know how much I need it."

"The book would do you no good at all," said Magnus, trying to keep cool. "If that is what you want, you had better read your own Bible."

"Haven't one to my name,—so there!" said Miss Saucy. "Oh, I never dare read the Bible, for fear of what I might find. I suppose you see me there quite often, all done up in black, and labelled like old letters. 'To be——'"

"Stop!" Magnus said, so sharply and suddenly that Miss Saucy did stop for sheer amazement.

"Well, I vow!" she said. "I wonder what right you have to speak to me so, Mr. Cadet Kindred."

"No right at all," said Magnus. "Only, if you play with Bible words, you will cut your own fingers; and I'm not going to stand by and see you do it. That is all. So if I should leave you and go back to camp, you'll know why." And Magnus strode on at a pace quite beyond the usual Flirtation saunter.

"I never—was—so talked to—in all my—many years of existence," said Miss Saucy, pretending to whimper. "I know I'm an awfully bad girl—and it's awfully sweet of you to tell me so. Such a nice time, too, when there's nobody round to take my part. Really looks as if you cared," added she, with soft intonation. "Don't go so fast, Mr. Kindred, please! I won't say another word—not half a word. Not if we meet a procession of snakes. Or my best man with another girl. Or your best girl with another man."

"You will not meet her," said Magnus. "She is too far away."

"Well, that is abominable," said Miss Saucy, as a turn of the walk brought them face to face with another couple. "That is awfully, savagely cruel. Oh, Nina Dangleum! Here is Mr. Kindred telling me he is engaged to be married! How are we all to live on and smile?"

"Excuse me; I said nothing of the sort," said Magnus.

"Awfully of the sort, I should say," retorted Miss Saucy. "Ought to be, if you're not. With a faraway girl that hides all the rest of creation."

"Then we are not to congratulate both parties?" said the second man in grey, Mr. Short.

"Yes, me, by all means—that I'm not the other girl," said Miss Saucy. "We've been having the awfullest quarrel! I never guessed Mr. Kindred had such a temper: he always struck me as one of the sweet-milk division. Like the Zulu's dog, you know, that eat up all the missionary's Bible and could never fight any—more."

"Naturally," said Magnus.

"Well, the dog didn't die—if that's what you mean," said Miss Saucy. "Only his popularity."

"What do you know about missionaries?" said Short, with a laugh. "That's a story made to order."

"It isn't! I guess I can hear things; I've got ears."

"Two pink shells," Mr. Short suggested. Miss Saucy made him a sweeping courtesy.

"Positively, the first decent word I've had said to me this morning. Mr. Kindred has been simply savage. But, do you know, Nina," she went on, half aside, "I think he believes it suits his style. Very fetching, don't you know. Why his eyes just glowed! If I wasn't so awfully afraid of him, I vow I'd make him angry every day."

"Nothing left for you two, that I see, but coffee and pistols," said Short. "I suppose you can shoot, Miss Saucy?"

"I suppose I can't."

"Shall I take the job off your hands?"

"Oh, no use!" said the girl. "Mr. Kindred can't fight. He's the Zulu's dog."

Magnus coloured; but with a quiet steadiness of face and voice that held the essence of bravery, he said:

"True, Oh, Miss Saucy! So, as it is to be peace and not war, shall we walk on?"

And Miss Saucy actually behaved herself, for the rest of the way; and declared afterwards that she never had known Mr. Kindred so fascinating.

Late in the afternoon, Rig coming into the tent was much astonished to find Magnus with his arms on the locker, and his head on his arms.

"Whatever's to pay now?" he said. "Just seen Pretty Newcomb go by with Carr? I wouldn't mind, Kin! There's several girls left."

"Rig," said Magnus, looking up at him, "if you bring all your brilliant intellect to bear in September, I'm afraid the Institution will blow up."

"Couldn't get the old thing started. Well, what is it, then? What are you at, all by yourself here? We've been having lots of fun in D Company."

"Good place for it," said Magnus; "your sort."

"What are you about, anyway?"

"Adding up two and two, and trying to make them six."

"Talk of blowing things up!" said Rig; "if that isn't inflation! You'll find it a quicker job, Kin, to fetch in two more, if time is any object to you."

"When you want sense," said Magnus, "go straight to the man who hasn't got any, and he'll give you his whole stock. I'll pit you against the world. Clear out and curl your hair; I've got something to do."

And Magnus took from his Bible the slip of paper Mr. Upright had given him a year ago, then turned over to the fourth chapter of the first epistle of Peter, and put it in there for a mark. But he looked long and steadily at the staunch words:

"Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed."

After a little Rig came and peered over his shoulder again.

"Hard at it yet?" he said.

"Yes," said Magnus, "and like to be. Just look at this! 'If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye.' And I don't feel happy, worth a cent. I feel just as cross as two sticks."

"But you can't take that as a command," said Rig, looking puzzled. "Folks don't feel happy to order."

"Not a command, no; it merely states the case. How I should feel if the cause were as dear to me as it ought to be."

"Well, I'd like to know what you're cross about," said Rig gloomily. "All the girls at your feet, and never twitted with anything by the Com. If it was me, now! You know how I shone in the blue list the other night."

Magnus nodded.

"Well, I hadn't really done anything," said Rig; "not worth mentioning, you know; and so I put in an explanation. And it was disallowed."

"Naturally."

"What do you mean by 'naturally'?"

"The way of the world, or the tactical part of it."

"But I wasn't going to stand it, if it was, you know; and I polished up my buttons, brushed the top of my head, swept my face, and went to see the Supe."

"Submitted your explanation to him?"

"Another, Kin, another, with variations. Told him I didn't really know the act was against rules. Which I didn't, except by hearsay; and that's not evidence in law."

"Haven't you a copy of the blue book?" demanded Magnus.

"Always sleep with it clasped to my heart, so as to know when to wake up," said Rig. "But now, Kin, what do you think the Supe did? Passed right over my innocent face and guileless bearing, my spotless gloves and inky shoes, and went for me like a Bengal tiger."

"'Mr. McLean,' he said, 'ignorance in your case is no excuse, sir. You have been reported for breaking almost every rule known to this Institution. That will do, sir.'"

"And you came away, as usual, sadder and wiser?"

Rig heaved a deep sigh.

"Yes," he said, "'sadder and wiser' will be my motto, Kin, as long as I stay here."

Magnus laughed and held out his hand.

"I mean to make you better that, this year," he said.

Next day the tents were struck; and the manifold delights of Camp Golightly drifted away beyond recall. But how pretty—and how gay—the scene was, that last morning.

A perfect day to begin with; the air crisp enough to herald the coming fall; everything at its best, and the crowd at its largest. Mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, and strangers, the whole Post, and half the neighbourhood. The groups are always very varied, often picturesque.

Here stands a tall first classman, perfectly hemmed in by the dear people from home. His cap is off, and his face aglow; and lifted high up in his arms is the pet of the family; the little girl's hand straying round his neck, her soft childish dress and his gleaming chevrons setting each other off in a very perfect way.

Beyond them is a many-coloured group of girls and dresses, but the girls look sleepy, and the muslins a trifle tired. The small hours of the hop last night have been too much for both. They are languidly talking over supposed conquests, rousing up now and then to say good-bye to special cadet friends, with many promises to come back next June for graduation. Under another tree is another party in the freshest of dresses, but themselves in the dumps.

"Why, Amy!" says one of the calmest of the group, "you are almost crying!"

"Oh, it is too awful to have it all go!" said Miss Amy, never taking her tearful gaze from the white tents. "I asked Ella this morning how she could possibly sit there and eat all that chicken and egg. I couldn't touch a thing!"

And beyond these again stands a camera and its attendant genii, where a half-dozen mothers and their cadet sons are getting photographed together.

Great army wagons pass back and forth between camp and barracks, bearing away bedding, lockers, brooms, and looking-glasses; and over the same short road go men in grey, with private effects too precious for the wagon, or perhaps only a belated broom.

Out in the company streets there gathered and grew the while, this day, an array of rubbish; old shoes and gloves, old boxes that had once held boodle, white jars that must have known tobacco, and yet had baffled (somehow) all tactical noses. White handkerchiefs—this one, indeed, duly marked "Smith, J." but this other, alas! filmy and fine with embroidery and lace. Once coveted and begged for and hid away, now tossed out among mess-hall spoons, stray towels, and broken glass. Had it even, perhaps, belonged to the fair damsel now weeping over the coming wreck of Camp Golightly? Take warning, young ladies, and do not waste your pocket handkerchiefs.

As time went on, the grey element gradually faded out from about the seats, and the white canvas began to shrink and fall from its smooth shapeliness, with cadets clustering in and about every tent.

The drummers came, and the first drum sounded. The tents shivered and swayed, the cadets took new positions, the breeze played over their heads and threatened to strike the tents at its own pleasure. Another drum, and now every eye and hand are needed to maintain even the semblance of a camp. Another—and the pretty little white town falls prostrate, and the grey men have the field.

Then fold and bundle up, with some cheers for the quickest; the full band marches in, the Commandant leads off on horseback—and away goes the grey-and-white host, plumes waving, arms glancing, all down the old road to the officers' row, and so on to barracks. And over the plain in all sorts of groups and combinations, goes a motley crowd of the sovereign people, vainly striving to get there first.

Poor little Miss Amy! Your cambric handkerchief lies limp and low in D Company street; and the man who was to keep it "always" marches past in the battalion, his head high in air.

A day or two of freedom follow, for getting settled; a few last bewitching walks are taken by some, while others peep into their study books and try to brush off a little of the summer's dust which dims that respected pile. And so comes the 1st of September.

I think Magnus Kindred was glad to get back to barracks, if only to tackle the year which should bring in furlough, and the yearling course certainly gave him enough to do. But who could not work with furlough before him? and of late another thought had taken new hold of his heart. He was but one, yet the honour of the name he bore was just so far in his keeping. If he stood high, it would be one answer to the taunt that religion made muffs of men. That would surely be said, if he were low in discipline, careless in dress, idle in studies.

So for one cause and another, Magnus worked with all his might; stood one in discipline, and in other things went steadily up. And his example told; there was a strong, sound atmosphere about him that other men could feel.

His dose of bitter-sweet thoughts about himself had done him good; and though he could not help hearing and seeing many things he did not like, join in them he would not, even if people laughed at him. More stringent orders than any blue book shows had taken new hold of the boy's heart, drawing him back from evil, speeding him on to good. "I have sworn unto the Lord, and I will perform it." Magnus and the flag had a good deal to say to each other in those days.

What busy days they were! New studies, new drills, riding among the rest; but that was a delight. The days shortened, the girls drifted away to less studious regions, the leaves fell—then the snowflakes; and the winter settled down into the long, steady stride which brought furlough nearer with every step.

January's first week sifted out several men from the yearling class; Mr. Carr among the rest. But as for some reason Mr. Carr took up his abode in the neighbourhood, he was still at least as useful an ally in helping them break regulations as he had been while in the Corps.

"If you want some fun," Rig said to Magnus one day, "just hang round the west wall of the Academic after supper."

"What about? I'm not going to put my fingers into a dark pocket."

"Nobody wants 'em in. There'll be enough without yours," said Rig. "But Carr is going to bring up a grocery store, and I thought you might like to see it."

"Bring up a grocery! Look out it doesn't turn into light prison for some of you."

However, groceries being rare in that particular locality, when Magnus went out for his evening walk he did stroll towards the old Academic. The night was moonless, and not overbright with even stars; but the white spread of snow made things quite plain enough. And presently, as Magnus stepped down the walk, he saw a dark huddle of figures near the appointed west wall. A small sled and a very big box, with a half-dozen cadets playing stevedore.

Then an officer came along the walk, meeting Magnus, who saluted and passed on. The officer glanced rather curiously down towards the dark group, but, with his mind full of something else, he merely took a short cut across the area, and so through the sallyport from the inside.

It was at a critical moment. Box after box of chickens, mince pies, cakes, ham, sweets, celery, and so forth, had been pounced upon, stowed in bags, and carried off. Rig's turn came last.

"I believe it's a mistake, you all going the same way," he said, as he seized the last bag of chickens. "I'll slip round the corner, and come in from the plain."

So round he went in the dusky light and met Lieutenant Benton in the very mouth of the sallyport. Rig saluted, and slipped in. But dark as it was under the grey arch, the officer's practised eyes found something unusual about the cadet outlines, and the next moment he turned and gave chase.

Rig had the start, and would have got off out of sight in another second if Mr. Benton had not suddenly shouted:

"Cadet, halt!"

Then it was all up.

"What have you there, sir?"

"Chickens, sir."

"Go to the guard-house and turn them in."

Crestfallen and sour, Rig crossed the area, set his bag down at the door of the guardhouse, and went in with his report. Being promptly ordered to produce his plunder, Rig stepped to the door—and behold! one chicken only was left. The light-fingered, light-footed boys in grey had in that two minutes rifled the bag and vanished. And Rig felt smaller than his own chicken when he turned it in, with the big bag, to the officer of the day.

"Just my luck!" he said gloomily. But he never knew who ate the chickens.

It is impossible to put in words what furlough means to a two-years-from-home boy. For "boy" he is still, to the dear home group, as well as in West Point pranks and frolics. But from the time the Hundredth Night is over there is a steadily growing pressure of excitement. It is not long till, for themselves, the men begin to count the hours.

A great deal of outdoor work comes with the softening skies and freshening earth. Company drills, dress parades, make the Point all alive again, and the cadets full of growls. Not all the prospective laurels for perfect marching can make the means to that end a pleasure. They have no time for it, they say; time is so precious, when you do not want to spend it in some particular way. But rides on the road are good, after the winter drills in the Hall; and Saturday afternoons just perfect—except on the area. Springing grass, opening flowers, scented air, and in the distance—June.

For at West Point June has a gift for everyone. In the first class, graduation; to the old second class, first-class camp and privileges; for the old third class, furlough. While the plebs become yearlings, and call themselves the happiest of all.

As the time comes on, all sorts of tradesmen invade the Point; men with samples of cloth for uniforms and for "cits"; with sashes, swords, hats, gloves, helmets, and handbags; with trunks, class albums, studs, canes, and umbrellas. Each Saturday afternoon is weighted with the most perplexed sort of shopping. For when you have lived two years, or four years, in a forage cap, it takes a good deal of study to know whether you will be most Adonis-like in a stove-pipe, or a wide-awake, or a plain straw hat. The cut of coats, the colour of trousers, cause deep debate, as also the probable worth of one tradesman's word as against another's.

With first-class questions Magnus had nothing this year to do, but over one furlough point he had a sharp fight with himself. The "cit" clothes in which he had come as a candidate were odious to him on that very account. All the same, one way to save money was to wear them home. So Cadet Kindred braced up mentally, and said that was just what he would do. And then, to put an extra touch to his goodness, he thought he would try them on and see how ugly they were; break it to himself gently, and by degrees, before he walked out through the sallyport in open day.

It was a splendid plan. For lo and behold! under the hard, despised West Point training, Mr. Kindred had grown and filled out and developed until he could not possibly wear those old clothes.

Magnus tossed the coat up to the ceiling, regardless of what might happen to the plaster, and joined the shopping band that very day.

It was delightful now, in the soft spring weather, to go out at every release from quarters, for a stroll round the plain, or down by the river. How lovely Flirtation was! An army of "Dutchman's breeches" held all the best posts among the rocks by the wayside, scaling the cliffs even down by the landing. And in the deeper shade north of Battery Knox, whole beds of dog-tooth violets filled the spots of damper ground, lifting their elegant heads like the highbred beauties that they are.

Among the tougher growths, iron wood and black birch were charming with their tresses, and the young tufts of maple and oak and hickory leaves were a joy to see. Shad blossoms and dogwood "picked out" the green; from some far-down hidden corner the spice bush spiced the air. Saxifrage spread whole sheets of bloom; and Lowell's "dear common flower" gleamed everywhere.

And then the girls came. Some "opening buds" that had come fresh from Paris; and some early birds, besides robins and song sparrows. The company drills had lookers-on; the walks round Flirtation were not always games of solitaire.

Among the visitors who appeared thus early, was a certain Mrs. Granton, with two girls of her own, and two belonging to other people—Miss Bee and Miss Clive. The Granton girls were just average damsels, but, of course, having a gay brother in the first class, they went everywhere, and knew everybody. Miss Clive was an heiress and played ditto, ditto upon yet stronger ground.

In the wake of these triumphant young ladies came Miss Bee with just funds enough to pay her own bills, but no particular store of either wealth or beauty.

She was a sensible girl, had a sensible little face, with pleasant eyes and a merry mouth, but had not knowledge to make the most of herself in the way some others did; nor, it may be, the inclination. No poppy leaves stained her cheeks, no powder whitened her forehead, no foreign coils of hair swelled out the moderate portion which was of home growth. And no extra-high heels put her further up in the world than she was by nature. Her shoes were "common sense"; her gloves were large enough to button all the way; her parasol was brown, and she had a trick of saying nothing she did not mean.

No girl who behaves herself will ever be slighted at West Point; cadets are too courteous and too chivalrous as well. But in view of all I have told of Miss Bee, you will easily guess that her place in the public interest was small. Everyone was polite to her, but no one missed her, or looked for her, or wondered where she was. Cadets never scowled at each other for her sake; and pretty girls never cared what she had on. Yet perhaps among them all there was not one who tasted every crumb of pleasure with such keen relish as Miss Bee. She had had so little of it in her life, poor child! This was her first real outing. No wonder West Point was fairyland, and every cadet a born prince in disguise.

At first, indeed, she was terribly afraid of them; conscious, perhaps, of her own lack of "fetching" qualities, but by degrees that changed a little. The innocent colour started to her cheeks as readily as ever, when some grey uniform came up with:

"Good-evening, Miss Bee. How did you enjoy the Light Battery this morning?"

But when none of them came, when they were all swept away in the gay whirl of beauty and fashion, and she sat solitary with Mrs. Granton, this was not quite so easy to bear, Mabel found, as at first. And many a brave struggle for victory went on under the old trees before parade, and Saturday afternoons at the Hotel, and in her own room. Nobody guessed it, and she never told.

It was no great wonder if, to this rather dull young life, thus suddenly set down at the edge of the bright whirl, the hero of all romance, past, present, and future, should array himself in bell buttons and grey dress coat. It was also quite natural that this hazy individual should develop into the face and figure of Cadet Charlemagne Kindred, with no fault on his part, and no special folly on hers. In truth, it was some time before the child picked up a dictionary of herself, with definitions.

But Magnus was undoubtedly one of the handsomest men there, with keen eyes that could be wondrously soft upon occasion, a winning smile, and a laugh that was refined and pure as well as gay. And then, as may happen, his good intentions led him perilously far. He thought the girl rather neglected by her own party, and so took special pains to see and to speak to her whenever she was about. He asked her for a walk, when there was danger of her being left behind; asked her opinion, right over the head of Miss Dashaway, and (I shall have to confess it) enjoyed the quick flutter of colour that lit up her face whenever he came near. For Magnus had no thought of risk in the matter; he was far too much of a gentleman—too much of a man—to try to draw her on for his own amusement. He just meant to be kind to her, though he did pick up a little pleasure for himself as he went along. Now and then he took refuge with her when other girls bored him; made her a "previous" against Miss Flirt's advances, and never noticed that all the while he was drinking in silent flattery by the cupful; getting his own mind so befogged, indeed, that he could not see how swiftly and surely one poor little craft was heading for a very dangerous coast.

Cadet Kindred was not a vain fellow, but what man does not feel the bewitchment of having eyes watch for him and look up to him, even though he be too careless of them to know their colour? What man does not like to have his words counted and treasured as if they held the distilled wisdom of the sages and the ages? And Magnus was also minus a dictionary, and did not know how to spell things one bit. The girl must have a good time, he told himself, she could not be left riding at anchor while all the rest set sail, and what might happen if he too often played pilot, to that he never gave a thought. All that was in the realm of impossibility, in this connection. Wise men and poor girls.

It looked so impossible to other eyes, and the girl kept her own counsel so well that it drew little notice. Rig did once or twice ask Magnus if he was getting rattled with that little Bee girl, and some others remarked that Kin was practising how to flirt when the time came; but such words were empty air to Magnus. It was well for all parties that June stepped in, with its absorbing demands.

There were plenty of men who did more flirting and frolicking now than ever, but not so Magnus Kindred. Everything dropped out of his life but home and furlough. Each night he wrote to his mother about three lines, telling her what the "Exam" had done with him that day, and in all the other between-times he was either freshening up his knowledge of some hard points of study, or he was taking long walks with June, and June only, to clear his brain. If he heard voices, or caught a glimpse of grey coats or red parasols, Magnus sheered off, scaling the rocks or scrambling down the cliffs to some breakneck spot, quite beyond reach for any cadet who had girls in tow. There he would lie on the moss and listen to the river, or the bell notes of the thrush; listen without hearing, as he planned his journey home. He would take such a train, and make such a connection, and jump off at the old station at just such a time. He would not tell them quite when to expect him, because they would be sure to come to meet him, and some of them would cry—right there before everybody. And it was a bother to attend to your luggage with three girls round your neck. But then Magnus laughed and coloured too. There could hardly be three—yet somehow two seemed even more objectionable. And still if he sent no word, and they did not meet him, there was a good half hour lost from that end of his furlough.

So he argued it, back and forth. And all the while, poor little Miss Bee was weeping secret tears over the seeming defection of her knight. She must have displeased him somehow.

"My sisters can hardly wait until I get home!" said Mr. Randolph one night.

"There's another man's sister can hardly wait until I do," said Clive.

It is strange how some event towards which you have been working, and which seemed to fill earth and sky till you reached it, at once then sinks down and becomes hardly distinguishable from the plain. So passed by the examination to Magnus Kindred.

In fact everybody is so fagged out by the 12th of June, tired with work, with gaiety and excitement, that feeling seems swallowed up of high pressure. This may be one reason why the bad success of other men affects so little those who have won through. Exceptionally strong as class feeling is at West Point, the dropped names seem to make very slight impression. And in some cases, of course, there is no surprise. When a man bones nothing but mischief, and tries to crowd into the three weeks before examination the study which should have filled six months, June is not always kind to him. Unless, indeed, he be one of those men who are pure mathematics—and even then the discipline column may cut him down. So it was with small surprise that Magnus heard Chapman's name among the "found deficient." Chapman did not whimper, but he took it hard.

"It's that beastly calculus!" he confided to Magnus, in the hurried moments of parting. "Oh, yes! I know what you mean by raising your eyebrows, but a man couldn't live here if he didn't run it now and then."

"But you see a man can't always live here if he does," said Magnus.

"Bosh! Yes, he can. Only they don't all run against old Towser every time, as I did. No, it wasn't that at all, it was the calculus."

And doubtless, in great measure, it was. Another boy, from far away, fairly came to tears.

"I don't see how I am to go home!" he said. "I don't know what my mother will say!"

While another, who had got a turn-back, liked so little what his mother did say that he gave her a sharp little lecture on the Graduation ground.

"I can't tell what makes you go on so!" he burst forth. "I'm only turned back. Lots of men are sent away altogether. Why do you talk like that? What's the matter?"

Poor mothers! It is often pathetic to hear them explain the case to other people.

"He's a good boy, Miss Smith; but you know he has always been delicate. Hard study never agreed with him." (True, this last.)

"You see, Mrs. Brown, he has had such trouble with his eyes that I wonder he has kept up at all. I really must speak to the Superintendent about the study lights. Then these early recitations. Why, at home we never thought of waking him up till eight o'clock, and then gently, you know, and by degrees. And now he says that gun just goes through his head without a word of preparation. I suppose, really, that is what ails his eyes."

"Everything here is so wretchedly mismanaged!" commented a wise and sympathetic damsel. "The cadets are abused at every turn. I don't see how they stand it. It is the meanest place!"

"Well, I've done what I could to straighten things," said a beaming matron. "Look at this bag,—absolutely worn out in the service. It has brought Tom everything—from cigars up. And when he wants money, he has only to say so."

Strange, that with such care Tom should ever grumble at anything—especially regulations.

But graduation has come and gone, the graduates have scattered; some for home, some for Europe, some to be married "on graduation leave." For three months they have "the world before them, where to choose."

The furlough men, too, are scattered, yet more widely and individually, speeding away on the spider's web of railways that covers the country. Class supper was over, changed from a gay revel to a less brilliant memory, and Magnus Kindred went whirling along towards home. And the great question of taking them all by surprise was still unsettled.

The home folks, however, had their own ideas on the subject, and for at least two days before Magnus could possibly come, they had met every train from the East; Mrs. Kindred, Rose, and Violet. Cherry went the first time, but after that absented herself on one plea or another. And so on that sweet June afternoon, when the train slowed up to let off the one passenger and the one trunk, the three were in hiding behind the station.

No one could ever describe what that first home-coming was to Magnus. For miles and hours the excitement in the boy's heart had been working itself up to white heat, as point after point rose up to give him welcome. Here a cliff and there a hill; the schoolhouse near by, the church further off; if he had only had a dozen straw hats, I think eleven of them would have gone out of the window, for pure joy.

But the little platform was empty, save of officials; not a creature got out of the train but Magnus, and not one was waiting to get in. Not a figure broke the broad June sunlight that filled the old road towards home. But when he had hurriedly tramped down the steps, he found himself in his mother's arms, with the two girls sobbing for joy on either side.

Of the next few minutes, I think no one of them could afterwards give much account. Then Magnus, with one arm round his mother, gave that hand to Violet, and the other to Rose, and so they walked along. How they talked!—with tongues once set free; but most of all, how they looked at each other. Mother and son had met within the year, but the two girls gazed at their handsome brother with a surprised delight that could never have enough.

"But I had forgotten that you were so brown, Magnus," said Rose.

"Drills."

"You always were straight," said Violet, "but now——"

"Bracing up."

"And your hair is so short," said Rose.

"Regulations."

Then how they all laughed and hugged each other over again, for there were only the wild birds to see.

"Well, certainly, if brevity be the soul of wit, you have improved in one line," said Rose.

"They teach it out there," said Magnus. "'Mr. Kindred, your head is on one side, sir!'—'Yes, sir. Which side, sir?'"

"And what did you get for being so saucy?" asked the mother, as the laugh died away.

"Nothing that time. Even Towser can't skin a man unless he gets hold of him. But wherever is Cherry? When you all came out of the first bush, I thought she would jump out of the second."

"She's at home," said Rose. "We wanted her to come, and she wouldn't."

"But she did the first time," said Violet eagerly; "the first day we thought you might come."

"Oh, ho!—and as I didn't show up then she put on her high-heeled shoes," said Magnus. "Girls are all just alike the world over."

"No, they are not!" cried both the charming specimens then present. "And you shall not say that of Cherry. She is like nobody else—and nobody else is like her."

And privately, Magnus thought his own two sisters very unlike most other girls. With their fresh, unjaded faces, undoctored complexions, untrammelled feet and waists, and unspoiled minds, they made a wonderful sweet contrast to Miss Dashaway and Miss Flirt. Magnus had not known how his estimate of women had run down among the crowd till he found it mounting up again, ten degrees at a time.

Even Cherry's absenting herself—it provoked him heartily, and he felt himself much injured, but it was after all a refreshing change after Miss Dangleum's ways. Yes, demonstrations were the man's business, and in his present mood Magnus felt quite equal to them, could he but get hold of the right person.

No half-grown girl in half-long dresses appeared, however, as they reached the house, but for a few minutes Magnus had all he could manage. The old dog (prudently left at home) was nearly as wild over the meeting as his young master; jumped upon him, clung to him, danced round him, whimpered, whined, and barked for joy. It was not five minutes before the two were rolling down the grass slope together, then running a sharp race, and then flying all over the old house from room to room. Magnus shouldered his trunk and rushed upstairs with it, and Plato dashed after him, wakening all the echoes that were anywhere about. The two girls, putting rolls in the oven and setting on cream and butter, almost danced in their tiptoe joy; the mother in the small sitting-room hid her face in her hands, and cried and gave thanks. Just to hear that boy's step overhead, what was it like? And then to have the pair come racing down the old stairs when supper was ready, Plato barking in a perfect scream of delight;—do you wonder that the prayer for a blessing was spoken low and falteringly? or that a hush filled all the room for some moments thereafter?

Then the three busied themselves earnestly about their boy's supper, and the boy also lent his assistance; Plato lying on the floor and winking at him. The old dog was afraid to really go to sleep lest he should lose sight of his young master.

"I suppose her High Mightiness expects me to put on my war paint to-morrow, and to go and ca—ll," said Magnus, drawling out the last word with ridiculous intonation.

"Who? Cherry? Now, Magnus, you shall not call her that," said Rose.

"Shall not, hey? I will call her anything I like," said Magnus.

"Well, go on, then, and do it," cried Violet, with a laugh, "for here she is."

And in more confusion than he expected from himself, after this bravado, Cadet Kindred started up from the table and found himself face to face with his old playmate.

Cherry had the advantage of him; she had seen the photograph, and was partly prepared for what she saw now—not quite. But to Magnus, with eyes full of the gleesome, outspoken girl of sixteen, this vision of a tall, slender maiden of eighteen summers, with something of a woman's shy reserve floating round her like the daintiest filmy veil, was altogether new. He had seen nothing like it. She was so lovely, so dainty, so sweet—if any epithets presented themselves, they died on his tongue.

And the girl, too, had caught her breath; the living presence is always so far beyond the picture. All her nicely prepared words of welcome took to their heels, and Cherry held out her hand and said simply:

"How do you do?"

Magnus got hold of the hand, and kept it; held it fast while he pushed and pulled chairs about to give her a place by himself. The hand was something tangible—especially as it was not quite ready to be held.

"How do I do?" he repeated, as she took her seat: "you don't care. Why didn't you come to meet me?"

"I think you had enough at the station."

"And you had enough at home, I suppose."

"Enough to do—yes."

"Well, how can you spare the time to be here now?" said Mr. Kindred, pursuing his inquiries. A girl who did not wear even the semblance of a heart upon her sleeve was something new of late, and exasperating. "It is very frivolous work to sit by and see me eat supper."

"It will be less so, when I get something to eat myself," Cherry answered demurely. "But I can wait still longer, if it is not certain the supply will hold out."

"There! now you have got it," cried Rose, clapping her hands; "and good for you, too. Hectoring her in that style! Give her some berries, Magnus, before you eat another one. Cherry picked two thirds of them with her own fingers."

"She did!" said Magnus, reddening in spite of himself under Cherry's fire; second classman on furlough and presumptive first sergeant though he was. "That explains why I've had to empty the sugar bowl. I'm sorry I have made such a raid, Cherry, but you shall have what is left."

And swiftly he drew everything as near the girl's plate as the dishes could find room. Bread plate and butter plate, cake basket, cheese, cream pitcher, water pitcher, and the wreck of the broiled chicken. Then seizing the berry bowl Magnus began to pile the sweet wild strawberries upon her plate, adding slowly and skilfully till they ran down to the very edge and rose up in the middle a red fragrant cone.

"How will that do to begin?" he said. "Will you have some sugar?—but I suppose not, as you picked them yourself and put all the tartness into mine."

The other three looked on, laughing and interested; but now Cherry was out of her depth. She looked down at the strawberry hill, at the dishes, then glanced round at Magnus. What did he mean? Was he really vexed? Could he really think? It was the fairest kind of a look, so earnest and questioning. What do you mean? it said.

I think Cadet Kindred knew very promptly what he meant, and saw some things clearly which had been hanging about in a sort of uncertain haze. And thus in answer to her shy questioning, Cherry met a look so keen and merry and full of mischief, full of she hardly knew what, that her eyes fell and the pink flushes came hurrying over her face.

Then Magnus laughed. He had the vantage now which belonged to him, and he felt better.

"Cherry," he said, "you are a transparent humbug! Mother, will you give me a cup of tea?"

"I think you are an extremely rude boy," said Mrs. Kindred, putting in an extra lump of sugar the while. "If these are your West Point manners, you will need a few terms at some other school."

"West Point manners are all packed away with my dress coat. This is the original Magnus variety."

"It is good to know," said Rose. "Here we have all been rubbing our manners up, to receive you properly."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Magnus, turning to gaze at Cherry. "Good to know, as you say. I did suspicion it was something got up for my express benefit."

"Let her alone, and finish your supper," said Mrs. Kindred. "That is, if you ever intend to finish."

"Emphatically I do!" said Magnus. "If I didn't, I could never begin again, and that would be a loss out here. Cherry, give me just a few berries off your plate. I am bashful about taking any more out of the dish. The sugar has given out, too," he added, dropping his voice; "and these will not want any."

Poor Cherry!—she literally found not a word to say, but sat looking down at her plate in helpless silence, as the hands she remembered so well conveyed away part of its contents. Then Rose came with a replenished sugar-bowl and set it down by him. But Magnus waved it away.

"Thank you, no," he said. "These are too sweet for sugar. How do you suppose Cherry worked it, to get them all on her plate?"

"Crazy boy!" said Rose, "you put them there yourself. Magnus, is your dress coat here?"

"Truly. Had to bring it along, lest a war should break out before I get back. May need it yet——" with an indescribable inflection which only Cherry caught.

"Then if you have done, as mother says," said Violet, "go straight upstairs and put it on, and come down and show yourself."

"Put on my dress coat, after such a supper," quoth Magnus. "I think I will!"

"Don't be foolish," said Rose. "Go at once, if you want pancakes for breakfast."

"Make it waffles——"

"Very well, then, waffles," cried both the girls, laughing at him. "Now Magnus, go! While your hair is short."

And thus it was, that in ten minutes or so there entered upon the scene a fine presentation of a West Point cadet: short hair, white collar, bell buttons, and all the rest.

Just inside the door Magnus paused, drew himself up, and gave a comprehensive military salute; then came on with quick, regulation step, halted in front of Cherry, and took off his cap with the true cadet swing.

"Thought you'd be out, Miss Reserve. I saw you clear across the plain. Now Cherry, you must ask how I could possibly see so far."

"What would you answer if I did?" Cherry said diplomatically. This photograph in person was not easy to talk to.

"I should remark that I can always see some people, across the world. Then you must put your head on one side and say: 'But you know you have such eyes, Mr. Kindred!'"

"Well, I certainly shall not say that," Cherry declared, venturing a look.

"Magnus, you are a young peacock," said his mother.

"Fine feathers, mammy. How do you like West Point, Miss Reserve? Is this your first visit? Very warm, isn't it? What do think of our view?"

Oh, how they laughed at him, Cherry and all! Magnus kept a grave face.

"Will you walk with me after supper?" he went on. And Cherry's sweet eyes opened full on him, to see what he meant.

"That is not the way at all," said Magnus (approving it highly, all the same). "You must put your head on the other side now and say: 'Really, Mr. Kindred—he! he!—I'm awfully sorry—but I've given all my walks away.' Then I shall answer fiercely: 'Tell me one of the men, and I'll go fight him and get it back.' Now, Cherry, clasp your hands and say pleadingly: 'Oh, no! Please don't, Mr. Kindred! I remember now—there is one walk just before breakfast. Would that be too early for you?' And I answer practically: 'Nothing is too early for me, Miss Reserve, after you have opened your eyes.' And then you must give me an admiring glance and say: 'Oh, don't talk of my eyes, Mr. Kindred!' Then the drum-beats, and I double-time it into camp."

"You need not say 'you'—I should never say such things," Cherry declared; this vision of other girls acting as a tonic, though she laughed with the rest.

"Of course not! You do not say anything to me," retorted Magnus.

"She is too polite to interrupt you," said Rose. "Do you mean to say that West Point girls talk like that?"

"Some of the girls. Cherry will when I have walked with her a few times."

Cherry glanced up in quick denial, meeting then the aforesaid eyes looking so handsome and competent and full of frolic and power that her own beat a hasty retreat.

"And you walk with such girls?" demanded Violet.

"Oh, yes—" Magnus said easily. "One cannot be uncivil just because they are complimentary."

"But before breakfast!" said Rose. "Is there no other half hour in the day that would do?"

"My dear girl, it's not that half hour in particular; it is every half hour they can get. You wouldn't have them pink and white their cheeks for nothing."

"Pink their cheeks?"

"Why, yes," said Magnus. "Pink them—frost them. I'm sure I don't know how it's done."

"You are telling traveller's tales," said Mrs. Kindred gravely.

"Well, I like that!" said Magnus. "Why, mammy, they all do it. Clinker says so. At least not all, I suppose. Of course, there are exceptions."

"Charlemagne"—began Mrs. Kindred. But at this word Magnus turned to her and "stood attention," bracing up to the fullest extent, and saluting with such profound gravity and respect that the rest all shouted, and the mother's face gave way.

"There is no doing anything with you," she said. "You must give them no end of trouble at West Point. Go upstairs and take off that toggery, and see if you can be a reasonable boy."

"I've got to give Cherry her walk first," said Magnus. "She has never walked with a real live cadet; and she may as well practise on me before she undertakes the rest of the Corps next summer."

"I look like that," said Cherry, with some scorn.

"Very much like it, I should say," responded Magnus. "I know how it will be. 'Say, Kindred, who's that awfully nice girl you've got on hand? Introduce me, won't you? Your sister, aint she? Well, don't let her promise all her walks to those spoony fellows. You want her to have a good time, you know.'"

Magnus hit it off with excellent mimicry, and the room was in a buzz of amusement.

"Then I shall say," he went on, "that my sisters are in quite another package, and that to ensure her having a good time, she has promised all her walks to me."

"She hasn't at all," said Violet.

"She will—by that time," said Magnus confidently; enjoying the pulsating colour in Cherry's face, and comparing it with the unmoved tinting of poppy leaves. "Why, even to-night she'll not walk home with anybody but Cadet Kindred, in full canonicals."

"Magnus!" said his mother, "I think you are absolutely beside yourself."

"Do cadets all talk in that style?" demanded Rose.

"Not all so brilliantly as I do, by any means, but in the same general way."

"Then I think they need a professor of common sense at West Point."

"And I think you had better go to bed and to sleep," said Violet. "We'll walk home with Cherry. Your brain is getting overexcited."

"Silence and solitude will calm it down," said Magnus. "If you all go, there will be a chatter, but Cherry and I know each other so well that there is no need to speak. She will not try to keep me, mammy; I'll be right back."

There is no doubt but Cherry was laughing when they set out, partly for nervousness, but also in part for the mere infectious atmosphere of frolic. She gave no sign, however, being much under the spell of the tall, erect figure at her side. Whenever she looked up and tried to throw off the glamour, one glint of the bell buttons brought it on worse than before.

"Aren't we walking very fast?" said Magnus mildly.

"But you told your mother you would be right back," said Cherry.

"From your front door—not from ours." The laugh rippled out at that, as Cherry moderated her pace.

"No use, you see," said Magnus, falling into an easy saunter. "I can do the double faster than you can. I knew you meant to scoot away by yourself, the minute I went to change myself into a cit."

"Who told you?" said Cherry.

"You."

Silence fell upon this; then Magnus began again:

"You see, I really wanted to have you alone awhile—I wanted to ask tidings of an old friend of mine. I thought perhaps you could tell me where to find her; girls always seem to know about girls."

"Oh, I do not!" said Cherry hastily, running over in her mind all the girls she had ever heard of. "You should ask Rose."

"Rose doesn't know everything. I dare say you can tell me if she has moved off. I thought so much of her!" said Magnus pensively, gazing up at the stars. "We used to be very intimate. I left my heart in her keeping—whatever she did with it. Why—you will hardly believe me—but she used to live here, in your house. And when I was going away to West Point she kissed me right at this very gate."

"She didn't!" cried Cherry hotly, and then hung her head.

"Oh, you do know her then?" said Magnus. "Why didn't you say so before? And where do you suppose she probably is now?"

Cherry resolutely stopped and faced him; what though the full moonlight effect well nigh swept off her self-possession.

"Magnus," she said, "you are talking great nonsense. It may be the West Point fashionable way of talking sense, but we are plain folks out here and have not had your advantages."

And here Magnus made a bow so profound that it sent Cherry's words to the right-about.

"What next?" said Magnus. "That is all more or less true, so far, but well begun is only half done."

"Oh, it is no use to talk to you!" said Cherry. "And it never was, for that matter."

"My talking is of some use, however," said Magnus. "I have quite succeeded in bringing myself back to your recollection. What more did you want to say, pretty girl?"

"That you are extremely silly," said Cherry, with the laugh getting into her voice.

"There is no contenting these women of sense!" said Magnus. "If I fib, she scolds: if I tell truth, she flouts me. If Derby drill will only handle this line of approaches, I shall learn how, in time. Don't walk so fast, wise damsel."

"Will you come in and see papa to-night?" said Cherry, not slackening her pace in the least.

"Well, hardly," said Magnus. "I like to make it all safe with the daughter before I rush into the paternal presence."

If Cherry had been that sort of a girl, I think she would have lent him a very earnest and hearty little cuff. As it was, she gave him one hopeless glance and slipped through the little gate, as her next neighbour would have said, "spryer'n an eel."

But quick steps were play to Magnus, and before Cherry's foot had touched the doorstone he was beside her. His hands met round but not touching her, putting the girl in a charmed circle of space; and the strong, clear voice chanted out an old playtime couplet:

"Oh, Magnus! do hush!" Cherry said desperately. "You are altogether wild to-night. And everybody will find it out!" she added, as if that doubled the case. She made a quick motion to dive under "the ring" and get away, which was quite fruitless.

"Stand still," Magnus admonished her. "Unless you want the prison walls to converge, as in that old tale of the Inquisition. I am going to put you straight through the catechism. First of all, will you confess that you are a humbug and a fraud?"

"I am only myself," Cherry faltered, but standing so still now that she hardly dared breathe.

"Only yourself—a very good answer. Well, I never want you to be anything else, more or less. Do you understand?"

"The words are tolerably plain," said Cherry.

"Then if you are 'only yourself,' why didn't you welcome me home?"

"What did you want me to say?" said Cherry, with again a little break in her voice.

"Say?" repeated Magnus. "You should have thrown up your hands and eyes, and then taken down the dictionary and used every word there was in it."

But now Cherry laughed.

"You would have had a pretty mixed dose, if I had," she said.

"Well, that is past," said Magnus; "you can't do it now. So you must have the catechism. Are you glad to see me?"

"Very."

"You are delighted?"

"Yes"—a little slower.

"Out of your wits with joy?"

"No," said Cherry; "you are the only person out of his wits."

"Ready to do anything I ask you?"

"In reason"—again slowly.

"Out of reason?"

"No."

"You will dream of me to-night?"

"I hope not."

"You will go wherever I want you to while I am here?"

"I—think so."

"And you will walk with me three times a day at West Point and with nobody else?"

"I shall not be at West Point. Magnus, do stop fooling and let me go."

"Bid me good-night, then."

"Good-night."

"I mean the way we said good-bye."

"That is the way I said good-bye," Cherry answered.

"It wasn't the way I said good-bye," said Magnus. "This was the way. And this is the way I say good-night. Cherry, you are a transparent fraud."

"But you must go," Cherry urged, very grave and quiet now. "If you do not go, you never can come again!" she added, as a last argument.

"What a wise girl! I believe she could tackle warped surfaces."

"Are they any harder to manage than you are?" said Cherry. "You know"—but she checked herself. It would not do to mention her father again, even to save his being waked up by all this talking under his window.

"Know what?"

"Less than you think," said Cherry coolly.

"The professors have been trying to din that into me for the last two years," said Magnus, "but I never thought to have you take it up. What were you going to say?"

"I shall not tell you."

"Sugar and spice," quoted Magnus. "Shows what I have to expect at my first wild frontier post."

"I can tell you what to expect before that," said Cherry. "If you stay here moonshining any longer, you 'will be pale to-morrow,' like your namesake in Dickens."

"Then you can hand over some of your pinks," said Magnus. "Besides, my dear, I must inform you of a well-known West Point fact: truth misapplied ceases to be useful. Mr. Peter Magnus was storing his good looks to propound a certain question next day. Whereas I, having settled it to-night——"

But just there Cherry made a quick movement of her pretty head, stooped under the enclosing arms, and was out of sight in a second.

Magnus ran down the hill, whistling at the top of his power. I am not sure that Cherry knew what he whistled; and I doubt if he knew himself; but I think it was "The Girl I Left behind Me."

"My dear boy," said Mrs. Kindred, as her cadet came in, "you forget that it is night in these Western regions. Have you been round the neighbourhood whistling people up?"

Magnus threw himself down on the floor at her feet.

"Mammy, if you'd not been allowed to whistle for two years, you would know how good it feels."

"Not allowed to whistle? What could comfort you?" said the mother, laying her hand caressingly on his head. "Well, I suppose if three hundred boys got to whistling, the effect might be rather powerful."

"What kept you so long, boy?" said Rose.

"Cherry. She is a rather slow girl, sometimes."

"She isn't!" cried Violet. "Never! She is just the quickest girl going."

"Cherry—as I have found her," said Magnus gravely.

"Do all cadets tell fibs?" inquired Rose.

"Unless I am a shining exception, they do."

"Well, do they all look like you?" said Violet.

"Making allowance for the difference of men," said Magnus, with easy assurance.

"What are those things on your arm for?"

"Rank, power, and responsibility. They are not 'things,' they are chevrons."

"What's the sense of cutting your hair so short?"

"So as to see better how to skin us for 'too much shirt collar,'" replied Mr. Kindred.

"Girls," said the mother, "you must really let him go to bed. I do not think he half knows what he is about."

"Don't I, though!" cried Magnus, springing up. "Just one hour and a half ago tattoo beat, and I wasn't there to hear it."

And once more the cap did duty in the air, as Magnus gave a tolerably quiet version of the class yell.

"Go, child," his mother repeated, smiling at him.

"Yes, I must," said Magnus. "Cherry said I should be pale to-morrow. It is worth while going to sleep, with no reveille gun ahead."

The Red House had been set very near the branch road by which he came up, and in front there was only a short path and a bit of greensward, but at the back lay a big old-fashioned garden, sloping gaily down towards a bit of woodland and a talkative brook.

Overlooking all this was a very wide porch with sashes on all sides which could be shut, but which on this warm still morning were all slid back. The porch within was full of flowers, with various rustic holders to hang and to stand and to rest on the sills, a wonderful basket of lilies of the valley being the centre piece on the breakfast table.

There were traces in the house of other days and more Eastern regions, and the little spider-legged table was dark with long years of service, the spoons were slim-stemmed and delicate, the dishes of exquisite blue and white.

But the dishes held very simple viands: bread, milk, wheat, with fruit and flowers, were about the whole, for some hurts or injuries dating back to the war time had slowly brought Mr. Erskine to a semi-invalid state, and Cherry wanted nothing but what her father had.

I have told you nothing about Mr. Erskine—and yet he was a very noticeable man. Hair whitened more with sorrow than years (it had changed suddenly upon the death of his wife), cheeks where the native red still lingered, setting off the look of extremely delicate health, with features refined and above-board in every line. The eyes were both soft and flashing, the smile—once the merriest in the world—now never lost its shade of pathos. Everything about the man was refined, the daintily cared-for hand, the plain, scrupulously neat dress. Across one edge of the placid brow a red scar swept down and hid itself among the thick locks of frosted hair, and now, as you looked further, you could see that the right hand had lost its mate, and the left sleeve hung empty.

With one hand resting lightly on that shoulder and kneeling at her father's side, Cherry read to him from a book laid open on the table, while Mr. Erskine was slowly finishing his plate of strawberries, dipping them, one by one, in the white sugar. Now and then a word of question, of comment, of explanation, passed between the two, with heads lifted and eyes meeting each other, then the reading went on again.

This was what Magnus saw; and though he made out no words, the mere tones of Cherry's voice seemed to him as sweet as any bird or brook or leaf-stir in the whole morning concert; and I know not how long he might have stood there in the shadows of the hall, if little Snip, the terrier, being officer in charge and scenting mischief, had not rushed in from the garden on a tour of keen inspection coupled with much comment. Cherry rose quickly to her feet, Magnus stepped out upon the porch, and catching hold of her hand, as he went by, dropped down upon one knee by Mr. Erskine, in laughing glee at his astonishment.

"Magnus!" he cried. "My dear boy, is this you? Can it be possible!" The one arm came round the boy and drew him close.

"So this is what made you stumble over your report of last night," Mr. Erskine went on, turning to Cherry; "you were hiding a secret." Cherry blushed scarlet.

"Did I stumble, papa?" she said, carrying off the dishes.

"Very much, for you. Well, my boy, there is no need to ask you how you are. Stand off there, and let me have a good look."

"I didn't mean to come in war paint, sir," said Magnus, as he obeyed; "but they said at home you would want to see it."

"Of course I do. Well, they certainly turn out—showy fellows over there." Mr. Erskine hesitated over his adjective, as if to choose a safe one. Cherry bit her lips, Magnus laughed and coloured too.

"They try for it," he said; "but we hope to be useful also, some day, Mr. Erskine."

"Of all the 'some days' for being useful, I have ever found to-day the very best. Sit down and give an account of yourself. Let the cloth wait, Cherry. I suppose you want to hear it all, too. Unless you heard it last night."

"No, indeed, sir," said Magnus. "I did not have a chance to tell her half." This with a glance at Cherry, which she did not mean to see.

"Papa," she said, "it will take but a minute to finish the table, and then we can listen so much better."

"Have your own way, love," her father answered, smiling. "My dear love!" he said under his breath, watching her. Then he turned to Magnus.

"Of course we know a good deal about you," he said, "for we have read and reread your letters, but I think I can understand them better now. And so these are the famous bell buttons?"

"Yes, sir, the regulation sort."

"Truly, they are pretty bright," said Mr. Erskine, with an amused smile. "Are the coats still pocketless?"

Cadet Kindred disclosed the hiding place of his handkerchief.

"I should call that hard lines," said Mr. Erskine. "Your mother gave us a description when she came home, and I rather think Cherry cried over it. 'What will Magnus do without pockets?' she said. 'Because, you know, papa, if there was ever anything he did not have in his pocket, it was only what he could not find.' Do you remember, love?"

"Papa," said Cherry, much abashed at both the story and the laugh it brought, "I think it is enough to have said silly things without having them repeated."

She fetched her work basket, and placing herself at the other side of her father, took out some bit of white stuff, and began to fold and hem with great speed and dexterity. Magnus watched her, wishing it were something for him. He had now and then seen a girl with a crochet needle in these two years, or straining her eyes over a piece of mussed unhappy looking drawnwork, but everything about Cherry and her basket was as fresh as the morning. Her strip of muslin might have just come from the shop, and have gone straight back there again, for all the disturbance it had from her neat handling.

"Yes, she's a busy child," said Mr. Erskine fondly, noting where the eyes were bent; "busy and sweet as the day is long. But come, Magnus, draw up your chair, and let us have the story. Of course, as I said, we have heard a great deal, but we want the whole thing now, don't we, love? Do you wear all that finery every day?"

"Yes sir, except when nobody is supposed to see us. We have an ugly, comfortable blouse for study, and meals, and recitations. With fatigue suits, of course, for drills."

"Look your worst at recitations, hey? I should think it good policy to look your best."

"Wouldn't make any difference with those old buffers," said Magnus. "They don't care if you fess perfectly frigid. They'd just as soon give you zero as anything else."

Mr. Erskine's mouth took on a quizzical look.

"Sounds like cold weather, doesn't it, love?" he said. "But let us go on regularly. Suppose it was term-time, how would your day begin?"

"With the gun, always, sir. Unless I am boning math. and have waked myself up for early study. I'm too much of a sleepyhead to do it often."

"Best not; you need the sleep."

"Yes, but when you want to max it, and have been getting two-nine for three days running, you see that will not do," said Magnus. "And I will not bugle; and I can't fudge worth a cent."

The comical look passed into a laugh this time, low and very pleasant, Cherry joining in, after a vain attempt to keep herself quiet.

"Next in prominence to the gun comes breakfast, I suppose," said Mr. Erskine.

"Yes, breakfast—slumgudgeon stew, and the rest of it," said Magnus. "But the bread and butter and milk are always good. They've taken to calling the roll after breakfast, as well as before, in case slumgudgeon should have laid some slain man under the table. Then comes a bit of release from quarters. If I've been fizzling lately, maybe I put in the time on French; but I am more apt to take a walk."

"That is well," said Mr. Erskine. "A brisk walk puts the brain in good order."

"It's not always a brisk walk, though," said Magnus. "Most often I go dawdling along with some girl."

And now Cherry was so still that only the swift-flying needle seemed to move. Mr. Erskine looked amused.

"I should think that a poor preparing for the section room," he said. "Can't be helped if it is," said Magnus. "There's such a lot of girls—and summer girls—about, it takes every minute you can get. Chappy comes up and says: 'Kin, just give my sister a walk, will you? Awfully nice girl, but if I don't bone a little I'll be found in French, sure guns. And besides, my best girl is here.' So I go. Then Miss Beguile says: 'Oh, Mr. Kindred! I've never seen Fort Putnam. Please take me!'"

How they both laugh at him—Cherry holding back a little, then letting her merry notes ring in.

"That sounds stringent," said Mr. Erskine. "Do you notice, love, his fine distinction between 'girls' and 'summer girls'? That is something we simple people know nothing of. By the way, I suppose you must be a summer girl—as he never sees you in the winter."

"If anyone ever dares call her a summer girl," said Mr. Kindred promptly, "I'll knock him down quicker than he ever had it done before."

"Hands off! I'll not call her so," said Mr. Erskine, laughing. "She is an everyday girl, and better each time. But Magnus, suppose your best girl happens to be also on hand?"

"She never is, sir. She has not been at the Point since I went there."

"Hard on you, if she went there before; you speak as if she were a fixed fact. Do you know, Magnus, I am rather sorry to hear that."

"Why, sir?" demanded Magnus, noting the pulsating colour in the fair face bent over the needlework.

"Well, when I thought of it, I hoped you would keep clear of all such entanglements till you knew what you wanted."

"I did, sir."

"Oh, of course! I beg pardon; I should have said till you had seen a little more of the world."

"Do you think the world is the place to choose, sir?"

Mr. Erskine smiled, half sorrowfully.

"I have only an old matchlock," he said, "and cannot cope with you young sharpshooters. But my boy, what I meant was this. When the boy goes off to college and grows into new mental strength and riches, and the girl stays at home and gets not half a chance, poor child, to do anything but wash dishes or (now do not glower at me) perhaps does not wish for higher things, then the man comes home raised to a plane where she is not fitted to stand by his side, and she can never be the helpmeet for him that she should."

Magnus listened respectfully; watching that lovely, flitting colour, it was not hard to sit still.

"You think," he said, "that some girls wouldn't amount to much at a one-company post. When a man was hard up for comrades?"

"Not unless they were 'best girls' in truth."

"Oh, well, mine is," said Magnus confidently, "the very bestest sort. I don't know how much she knows—but if I stay at the Academy two years longer I shall have a stuffed head, full enough to lend on every occasion. Besides, it's not needful for a man's peace of mind that his wife should understand wave motion, is it, sir?"

Mr. Erskine laughed at him, and Cherry laughed too, though now colouring furiously.

"I suppose it is not needful," her father said, not noticing her, "unless in practice. Well, I hope it will turn out all right for you. I had a friend, Magnus, who got entangled, as I call it, very early, went away to college, and when he came back with all his honours, his mother forbade the bans on that distinct plea; she said the girl was too ignorant. I think my friend would have gone straight on through it all, but the girl was not of that sort. She refused to enter any family by the side door. So they waited, the engagement was virtually broken, and years went by. Then the mother died, the man sought his old love and married her. But Magnus, the girl had spent those years not in lamenting, not in flirting, but in solid, hard study. So that when at last they went forth in life together she had passed him, and was the better educated of the two."

What was Cherry laughing at? For while the cheeks had not all cooled down, the lips had parted in but half-controlled curls of fun.

"Well, if she was proficient in warped surfaces, I hope they enjoyed talking it over in their play-spells," said Magnus. "I've no use for some of those things, they sift out too many good men. We all felt bad to have Chuck go."

"Finished his course?" said Mr. Erskine.

"At West Point, sir; graduated at the wrong end, dropped. He did everything to stay; ran a light after taps, cut society, and sat night after night with his feet in cold water and his hands in his hair (what there was of it)," Magnus added in parenthesis. "But nothing did any good; he'd go next day and fess on a clean board. 'Mr. Simpkins,' the instructor asked him one day, 'are you as stupid at drill as you are in the section room?' And Chuck turned with the blandest face and answered: 'Nigh on to it, Lieutenant!' And he was."

How the listeners laughed again.

"But that was Simpkins," Cherry remarked. "You said 'Chuck.'"

"'Chuck' was his cadet name."

"Do they name everyone?" asked Mr. Erskine.

"Very generally. But some names go with the office. The fattest man in the class is 'Tubs,' and the oldest 'Daddy'; while the cleanest-face man in all the Corps may be 'mud,' because his pred. or his resemblance owned the name. 'Deacon' and 'Squire', 'Mile-High' and 'Shorty', 'Pretty Jones' and 'Lady Crane.'"

"What is yours?" said Cherry.

"Only 'Kin'; sometimes with the 'Kith' added. Do you see?"

"I see that you are a very wide-awake set of boys," said Mr. Erskine. Cherry slowly pulled off her thimble.

"Papa," she said, "I sent word that they must all come here to dinner, and it is time for me to go and see to things."

"I will come and help," said Magnus.

"Thank you, no," Cherry answered him gaily. "Housekeeping is one of the few things you have not studied. Stay and talk to your mother, she is just here."

So while the two girls followed Cherry, the other three people sat talking over many things, the two elders closely scanning the young cadet; and he, all unconscious of their scrutiny, showing himself just as he was in truth. Certainly the stories and pranks he rattled off were full of mischief, and as surely they gave small token of a reverent respect for regulations. But there was no taint of anything mean or low, no word that savoured of "conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." The mother breathed freer with every new light thrown upon his West Point life, and felt that her boy had come back to her pure as he had gone away. The eyes of the two old friends met in joyful sympathy time and again, as Magnus talked and told, and their laughter had no reserve of anxious questioning. And when at last Magnus detailed himself to go and look after the girls and dinner, Mr. Erskine stretched out his hand to the happy mother.

"He is a splendid fellow," he said; "a grand boy! I congratulate you with all my heart."

No man has complained that you have discoursed too long on any subject, for you leave us in an eagerness of hearing more.

—Dryden.

The other two walked slowly on. They had always been cronies, as a man and even a small boy can be; and now Magnus found his old friend full of the keenest interest in all the new life and varying work of which the young cadet had so much to tell. Slowly down the pretty hill they went; Mr. Erskine taking from Magnus what help he could for his lame side, and the cadet trying to make the regulation step know its place. And it was so pleasant to see, so like the dear old times, that the four at the cottage dropped everything to watch them as they came. Then Mrs. Kindred hurried out to welcome her guest, the two sisters got hold of Magnus, and Cherry went quietly back to finish setting the table.

I doubt she was not minding her business too closely, smiling to herself over the words and laughter that came past the half-open door of the closet where she was sorting out spoons; for she never heard what stealthy steps drew near, and her first warning of danger was the sudden darkening of the closet by the shutting of the door. Cherry sprang towards it just in time to hear the bolt shot and the key withdrawn. Then came a struggle outside.

"Oh, Magnus, stop! Cherry is in there!"

"Safe as possible."

"Give me the key! She wants to be out here."

"Then why did she go in?"

"She went for the spoons, you intolerable boy," said Violet.

"Do to talk of," said Magnus coolly. "No, my dear; she went because this intolerable boy was around. So you perceive it is very kind of me to keep her where she cannot see him. Come, chicks; let's get the old banjo, and I'll sing you the 'Song of the Summer Girl.'"

"If you sing one single note when Cherry is not by to hear, we will stop our ears," said Rose.

"Then you will not be able to tell her about it afterwards," said Magnus. "Come along."

"Well, you cannot have your dinner till we get the spoons," said Violet.

"At West Point we eat with forks—when we have them," said Magnus. "When we do not, we take our fingers. Where is that banjo?"

The girls followed him, talking and scolding and threatening to tell Mr. Erskine, but Cherry had no idea of waiting for outside help. She was a girl of resources, and the case in hand was not very hard. For this was an outside lock, simply screwed on; an old knife made a fair screwdriver; and, when Magnus had just reached the next room, a soft chink made him look round, and there was Cherry, calmly putting the spoons in place.

"Where did you come from?" he said, turning back.

"The spoon drawer. Do I understand that West Point cadets scorn both spoons and forks?"

"I'll teach you something about West Point cadets, before I go," Magnus asserted, stepping towards her.

"How good of you!" said Cherry mockingly, as she slipped round the table. "We're such an ignorant set out here. Magnus, if you would announce a lecture on warped surfaces, I really think it would draw."

What Magnus would have said or done, and how Cherry might have suffered for her temerity, does not appear. Rose came in, bearing a dish of such chicken pot-pie as Magnus declared never grew on a reservation; Violet followed with potatoes and peas and beets—the pretty red, white, and green of the summer garden; and they all sat down to dinner. Then Magnus found that he had neither spoon nor fork.

"Why, Violet, how careless," the mother said, as he made known the fact.

"No, mamma, not I."

"Mrs. Kindred," said Cherry, "Magnus said that West Point cadets could eat with their fingers, so I thought if he enjoyed it, we should like to see how it was done. And it would be one less to wash. And the chickens are cut up," she added gravely. Mrs. Kindred laughed.

"If you two are having a fight, I'll keep out," she said. "Go and help yourself, Magnus." And this he would have done from Cherry's plate, if that young damsel had not laid fast hold of her property; so he took Violet's instead.

But it was a delightful dinner: what though the courses were few and simple, and the trained waiters only the three girls. Then the two elders carried Magnus off to the porch for another talk while the girls cleared the table, and then they also came out, bringing the banjo.

"Now for the summer girl!" they cried, and Magnus left his place for one on the steps at Cherry's feet.

"She has been called 'a summer girl,'" he said, "and I want to see how she likes her portrait. This lay is named: 'The Idle of the Summer Girl.'"

"Your writing?" said Rose.

"If you admire it, yes."

"Dear me, child," said Mrs. Kindred, "do they waste your time out there writing poetry?"

"They don't waste any of my time they get hold of, you'd better believe," said Magnus. "I should forget what time means if I didn't filch a little for my own use, now and then. This is: 'The Idle of the Summer Girl. By Two Who Idled With Her,' Cadet Rig being the other party. All the weak lines are his. There's another touching ditty on the same theme, much sung in camp at the time of full moon, but it takes two to do it justice, as you can judge from a specimen verse."

Magnus twanged the banjo lugubriously, and began his song, changing voice for the supposed two singers, and giving the words of comment in his own:

1st Cadet: "O the Summer Girl has come to town."

2d Cadet: "Alas, my heart!"

1st Cadet: "In a sky-scraper hat, and a trail—ing gown."

2d Cadet: "Alas, my heart!"

3d Cadet: "Steady on that, you haven't got any."

At least four voices cried:

"Go on! Go on!"

"Can't," said Magnus; "it exhausts my feelings. Too spoony."

"Is that the way you talk to each other?" said Violet.

"Very much the way."

"And does nobody take up the cudgels for the poor summer girl?" inquired Mr. Erskine.

"Oh, I'll take them up, if you wish," said Magnus. "My Idle does her justice," and he dashed off into a tune crazy enough for a patchwork quilt:

("N. B.—The last ones weren't fresh. Bought at the station probably.")

"Magnus—she didn't!"

"Rose—she did!"

"And you eat it?"

"Tossed it over my shoulder while she bestowed one on Chappy. Robins aren't fetched up particular, as I was. Why, that's nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"No," said Magnus. "When a girl puts a lump of sugar between her teeth and comes round offering everybody a bite, that is rather steep."

A general shout of derision greeted this, except from Cherry, who had grown rather quiet over these extraordinary "idles."

"Well, you must have been homesick, I should say," remarked Rose.

"Why, Magnus, I did not know you had it in you to flirt," said his mother.

"Don't think I have, mammy, to any dangerous extent. What's the row? Can't a man sing a song o' sixpence without being immediately spotted for one of the blackbirds?"

"But eating out of the same dish!" said Violet.

"If you had been a year at West Point, you'd eat ice cream out of anything," said Magnus, "and almost with anybody. I am generally careful to keep far away on my own side, and to grow more modest as the partition wall grows thin."

"But you had no money," said Mrs. Kindred. "I cannot see where you got ice cream."

"Summer girl stands treat. When you see a group of fainting cadets gathered round Delmonico's, you may take your affidavit there's a summer girl inside. Why, the amount of boodle that fair creature smuggles into camp and throws around generally would set a country store up in business."

"Boodle?" queried Mr. Erskine.

"Contraband sweets of life, sir."

"But Magnus, you said 'smuggled,'" said his mother.

"Had to be smuggled, mammy, or it could never get in. Tacs would confiscate and eat it up. And it might disagree with some of 'em. Better let any number of cadets suffer from indigestion and go to the hospital than have Towser off duty for a single day."

"My dear," said Mrs. Kindred, trying hard to keep a grave face, "I do not like to have you breaking rules."

"Don't like it myself," said Magnus virtuously. "They should not make 'em so fragile."

"If they are fragile, keep off."

"Just can't, mammy. Here we've had breakfast at half past six. Then we go head over heels into math. and heels over head into tan bark; and not another regulation mouthful to be had till one o'clock. Flesh and blood can't stand it, you know. We just have to have a barrel of apples handy, and a box of crackers; and any other trifles we can pick up."

"A barrel of apples!" said Rose. "And 'smuggled' in! Wherever in the world do you keep them?"

"You are going to be such a favourite with the Tacs next summer, I think I will not tell," said Magnus.

"Poor starved boy!" said Rose. "And he has been home two whole days, and not even half a dish of ice cream, yet."

"I have had all the ice I want, thank you," said Cadet Kindred, looking up at Cherry, who as I said, had been very silent while all these other girls filled the air. "Cream has been scarce. Perhaps if you two would stir up some sort of stuff to-morrow, Cherry would come down and freeze it."

"You shall freeze it yourself," said Violet.

"Agreed—with her to help me." And laughing up at her with mischievous eyes, Magnus finished his song:

Whither I must, I must.

—King Henry IV.

If love does sometimes contrive to do for itself what the poet wished, and "annihilate time," over the "space," alas! it has generally no power. Those last days at home were to Magnus only quarter-days; but once in the cars, and the miles drew out a lengthening chain that fairly seemed to clank in his hearing. Two years now, almost, away from those dear faces; two years more without Cherry.

To be sure, she was coming to first-class camp; that was something. She had not said she would, but she must; or he should simply die, and the authorities would have to send him home.

As the train flew on, tossing everything behind its back, classmates began to straggle in, catching the express from one point or another; each State giving up its contingent of much-disgusted men, all equally gloomy and rebellious. What was the use of the old concern, anyhow? So they grumbled, keeping down each other's low spirits, and ever and anon launching forth upon the departed joys of the last eight weeks; opening their hearts less or more, according to the man. For in some coat pockets lay hid a little glove, carefully wrapped in rosy thoughts, and (I was going to say) here and there also a mitten, in different-hued tissue paper. But no, I take that back; nobody ever gets a mitten on furlough, which is perhaps the reason why so many engagements date back to just that point.

They felt very small just now, with love and home behind them; speeding away towards drums, Tacs and the reveille gun. I think some of them would have liked to slide off on a railroad "Y," and so ride backwards all the rest of the way, as under protest.

Through all the grumbling Charlemagne Kindred was profoundly silent, only jerking his words out when they must come, in a way that made the others pronounce him "a gingersnap." But snaps are sweet, and he was not.

"Just think," Rig said lugubriously, as he dropped into the seat by Magnus, "this time to-morrow I shall not have even the show of a pocket."

"That's square; you'll have nothing to put in it."

"And I've got three confinements to serve out the first thing," said Crane, in front.

"All right—you went in for them," said Magnus, with a comfortable consciousness of his own clear score.

"Didn't; I went out."

So the talk went on, and Magnus sat vaguely listening, seldom joining in, his whole self reaching back towards that beloved region whither he could not go. He longed to have the talk stop, the train stop, the world stop—almost: anything, to change the pitiless rush and roar with which he was speeded away from all he loved best.—Mile after mile, hour after hour; till he felt ready to start up and cuff somebody, if only so he could make a change. They talk of homesick plebs, and those fellows have it hard enough; but I doubt if it compares with the mal de pays of the furlough men when they come back.

Cadet Kindred fought it, wrestled with it; then suddenly turned and began to fight himself. For was not this West Point life the very thing singled out just now for him? The surest, best, and quickest way in which he could win education, position, and the means to live? The shortest road to that fair home for Cherry which tinted even his dreams? Had it not been the Lord's appointment, far more than that which dated back to Congressman Ironwood? I do not think the ache died out, a bit; but the antagonism did. Ready for duty, ready for all that might come with duty; yes, that should be true of him. As clearly as to-morrow he would answer to his name at roll-call, so now in his heart Charlemagne Kindred said: "Yes, Lord, here!" What were they all praying for him at home? Not only, not chiefly, that he might win the honours; but that his daily life might be an honour to the cause of Christ.

The miles did not shorten after that; home still shone oh, how vividly! and shoulder-straps looked dim and hazy in the distance, and graduation but a myth; but the brave heart addressed itself to wait, and to work, and to endure.

The great city was reached, and trunks and men conveyed across to where the swift steamer lay taking in her living freight. The whole class, gathered now from all sides of the great country, mustered in "cits" for the last time.

As I think, it was a happy thing for these young schoolmen, that in the year of which I write, the "rush" was still in its glory; not yet found out to be unmilitary and dangerous. But now the first classman is supposed to forget that he ever was a boy.

For my part, I am glad to know this for a clear fallacy. No power on earth, not even time, can ever drive the mischief out of some men, or kill the frolic that lies hid behind those sober suits of grey. The most sedate bearing may belong to the plotter of the most consummate exploits; and the gravest men take your breath away telling what they have done. Ah, it is not the boy in them that needs watching, but the undisciplined man.

But as I said, in those days the hopeless task was not begun. So when the boat reached the landing, and her signal went sounding up the hill, a rousing reception was ready.

The furlough men had been watching with sober eyes, as one grey wall after another peered through the trees; and now they stepped wearily along the steep, winding road, bags in hand; a dusty, rebellious lot. Then paused at the top of the hill and clustered together in front of the Library.

Before them lay the cavalry plain, brown and powdery with sun and riding; the black guns of the Light Battery; then the camp. Rank after rank, in their exact order, the white tents gleamed in the sunshine. A moment the travellers saw it all.

Then on the nearer side there gathered a grey and white swarm of figures; the furlough men spread themselves in a long single line, and, joining hands, began to double-time it across the plain. The grey figures dashed out across what was afterwards the famous "Post No. 6," swooped down upon the furlough men, and "rushed them into camp."

There followed ten minutes of utter Babel-like confusion; hats, caps, handbags, and men were on the ground or in the air, as the case might be. I think Mr. Starr lost his foothold on firm earth several times, while Magnus Kindred made things just as lively for one or two small first classmen. Men hugged each other or shook hands, according to the various degrees of size and friendship. The ladies on the seats clapped hands; the yearlings, on their way to dancing, turned and gave a cheer. Then the hubbub was over. The furlough men dived into their tents, and came forth to dinner roll-call full blown cadets, with very sober faces. The rush helped them for the minute, but it could not last; they were a sorry-looking lot.

Charlemagne Kindred came out too, after a while (anything but his own thoughts!), and was most effusively greeted by Miss Beguile and Miss Saucy. But being promptly bid to stand and deliver a full, true, and unvarnished account of the summer's work and play, he got off as soon as he could and took his sergeant's chevrons and his loneliness down Flirtation for a walk.

How unbearable these average girls were to him after Cherry! Cherry, with her quaint, womanly ways, and low-toned voice, and earnest eyes; a hundred times fairer in her fresh print dress than they with all their silks and streamers! "A trust"—ah, she was one worth having. And it was with a very moved and joyful heart that Cadet Kindred realised how surely upon his keeping of that trust, hung all the joy and brightness of her sweet life. Hers—and theirs; four true women looking up to him.

On the whole, it was a very good bit of thinking the young sergeant did there, with the lovely river sweeping by at his feet, and the leaves in a glad rustle behind him. Yes, every new bit of honour that he could win, in any line, would be gilded anew for them. He must send them a correct drawing of even the new chevrons.

Magnus again mounted the hill, but at the edge of the broken ground he faced about and took off his cap to the flag.

"Glad to see you, old friend!" he said. "Henceforth, you and I are going to run things together. I'm enlisted now, for all the storms that blow."

There was much wedging and crowding in the camp that night, lightened somewhat by the big hop which shortened the night for so many. Not for Magnus. He went to bed, thinking the night would be two nights long: quite sure he should not close his eyes.

But youth, and health, and the long journey, and even sorrow, quite upset his calculations. When the hop men turned in, Magnus hardly roused up enough to give a short answer to some details; and when the sharp voice of the reveille gun spoke in his ear, it was as clear a wake-up—and alas! as disgusted a one—as Cadet Kindred had ever known. But breaking camp at least would be welcome: hard work suited his mood just now much better than play.

Yet before the hour drew on, he strolled out towards the visitors' seats; the exquisite morning, the dainty wreaths of mist, and the sweet, pure air, making him so homesick that he craved even a chatter of tongues that should stop his thoughts.

The seats were a waving line of colour. Hats turned up, and hats turned down; bonnets too small to be seen, and hats like umbrellas; ribands, laces, streamers of every kind. Plenty of grey coats, too; first classmen and yearlings in their glory, with other disconsolate furlough men, searching the crowd for a friend, if possibly such a thing remained to them east of the Rockies, or north of Mason and Dixon's line. Everywhere a busy chatter, with introductions, greetings, inquiries, and much swinging of cadet caps. Sugar-plums abounded. On the grass a group of children sunned themselves in front of the grown-up people, sometimes aping their ways.

Magnus was taken possession of rapturously,—had to touch a half-dozen gloves in as many seconds.

"And where have you been all summer, Mr. Kindred?" Miss Fashion inquired in gracious tones.

"In a much better place than this old camp, Miss Fashion."

"That goes without saying," chimed in Miss Saucy. "Any place where you were, would of course overtop the rest of the world."

"It might," Magnus answered, thinking of the oak shadows where he had sat with Cherry. I am not so sure that he heard Miss Fashion's next words, looking over her head towards the Western sky. The West! The West!

"And of course your desire for study is immense," the young lady went on, a little louder.

"Quite insatiable!"

"Oh, you're too good to be true!" said Miss Saucy.

"But don't you feel all out of training?" said another girl. "I should think it would come awfully hard at first."

"On the contrary, I feel in better training than ever in my life before."

"But that is awful!" said the Kitten. "Back from furlough 'in training'? Why, Magnus, you'll come out blue."

"I expect it," said Magnus, with a bow. "That is what I am aiming for."

"Now that I call mean," said the young lady; "taking one up so. How sharp you have grown all of a sudden!"

"Best let him alone, Puss," said Miss Saucy, "or you'll cut your fingers. He's been at the seaside, eating razors."

"Using 'em, too," said the Kitten, gazing at Magnus. "Didn't it go to your heart to cut off your moustache?"

"Everything goes to my heart. That is my weak point."

"What was the last arrival?" demanded Miss Saucy.

"That drum." And in answer to the warning rub-a-dub, Cadet Kindred touched his cap to the ladies and crossed the green strip in front of the colour line.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Miss Kent, a pretty blonde in her first West Point season, and who had taken the whole yearling class as near to her heart as is usual on such occasions; "I shall just cry, I know I shall, when that camp goes down! Think, girls, there won't be any place to go to spend the day!"

"The seats under the trees," suggested Miss Beguile.

"Oh, yes, you can sit there as long as you please," said Minna Kent, "but they can't come and sit with you. Some old dowager always pokes along and turns them out."

"And if the men look at you in ranks, you're none the wiser," said Miss Saucy. "Do you know, I just made Clinch look at me the other night as he came round Towser. He was acting-adjutant. It's the meanest thing to break camp before cold weather. There it goes!—our camp!"

But it was the same old story, after all. Always crushed sugar plums under foot and withered flowers; the air filled with heart-beats that nobody heard, and glances that no one saw.

The cadets get rid of their plumes and trappings; the girls hold fast to all they have; and away they all go, for walks, talks, and flirtations. Two girls to a cadet, three cadets to a girl, or two very special chums together.

Among the solitary stragglers was Charlemagne Kindred. He waited till every girl was out of sight, dodged or shook off his loitering comrades, and then, with steady step went straight across the plain and took stand beneath the waving folds of his old love, the flag.

Two whole years—two years and three months almost—since the first day when he stood in that circling shadow and took his vow of brave allegiance. Leaning back now against the white pole, he tried to scan the two years' record.

In the main, he had kept his vow; love had never faltered, nor fealty. But he knew now, far better than he knew then, that for this love as for the other he must live, as well as be ready to die. The honour of the Stars and Stripes was at stake, wherever an American fought out his personal life-fight with evil. On harder fields sometimes than Chapultepec, and with no earthly glory for reward. No name on a tall column, no tablet in chapel or hall. Unknown, perhaps, while the fight lasted: no notice taken, until the Great Captain shall speak the "Well done," when he comes to survey the field.

Looking up at the red, white, and blue, Magnus said to himself that devotion, purity, and truth were the real defenders of the country; winning victories far beyond what powder and shot could ever gain; keeping the flag not only flying, but unstained.

"Winning victories"—he repeated to himself, looking up again at the lovely waving folds of the flag: "positive, as well as negative."

Bible words are very positive.

"He that is not with me is against me," said the Lord Jesus. "He that gathereth not with me, scattereth."

"But they don't leave us time for anything like that," Magnus thought, in half excuse. "It takes so long just to be; to look after your own prayers and reading. There isn't any chance to do."

And now he remembered the lovely, constant shining of Cherry's life in even the commonest, everyday things; the halo that was always about her. Set her at any sort of work, in any sort of company, and you could never doubt for a moment whose she was and whom she served. The King's seal was there. Such a life is positive, by its very nature.

"But then she is like nobody else," Magnus went on, as his rapturous thoughts finished off with a long, heavy sigh. "And she has a little space to breathe in, too. But here—just math. and chem., study and drill, from dawn to dark." Then other words came up before his eyes.

"Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily; as to the Lord, and not to men."

"Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus."

"Even those old lessons," commented Cadet Kindred. "I rather suspect I've been setting my study books at the wrong angle. I know Cherry says that drudgery fades out, if you write the name of Jesus on it. Wonder if it would work so with anybody but her?"

And a long, dull procession of days rose up in sight; each one loaded down with hard, monotonous work. Not prettily varied, with one day this and next day that, but a steady, straight on pull in the same lines, for weeks together.

"And we can't turn and twist about as you do, old flag," he said, "but have got to stand attention (or sit it) every time. It would feel sort o' good, if we could just choose our own positions for firing off blunders."

"Whatever in the world are you holding up the flagstaff for?" said Rig's astonished voice, as that young man came up from among the guns. "Beastly dull here, isn't it? I say, Kin, when's that awfully pretty sister of yours coming?"

"Which one?"

"Well, both, then," corrected Rig.

"After you graduate—if you ever do."

"You may well say if. But you'll be gone yourself, then."

"Maybe I shall not let them come at all. There are too many girls here now." And Magnus cast cynical eyes towards several free-and-easy damsels who were sauntering across the plain, well attended.

"There they go," he said; "men and girls and parasols. And the parasols are the only things in the lot with a grain of sense. Just hear that pink girl laugh! She's got Duncy in tow, telling him: 'Oh, Mr. Duncy! you are so amusing!'"

"Shouldn't wonder if she wasn't. I think he is, sometimes, myself," said Rig.

"He is a consistent goose," said Magnus.

"Come, now, Kin, you're out of humour," Rig said soothingly. "You'll feel better after dinner."

"No I shall not," Magnus answered crossly. "Last Thursday I had chicken pie and apple fritters."

Rig gave a groan.

"Well," he said, "it can't be helped, so eat all you can. And there goes the drum."

The two set off for barracks, but if Magnus had eased his mind, he had certainly given his heart an extra load.

"Kindred's as glum as a post," remarked a smart first classman. "Easy to see his girl's gone back on him."

Magnus caught the words, but then came a thrill of joy. No, that could never be true; and his girl was the very best in all the world. The sights and sounds about him grew indistinct; and with thoughts two thousand miles away, Cadet Kindred finished his dinner and never knew what it was. Only "Company A, rise!" awaked him from his dream.

No, Cadet Kindred was in no mood for "other girls" that day; had he not just been writing his heart out to Cherry? and was not her last letter lying perdu up his sleeve? You could not expect him to have any relish for common doings.

So with the easy, steady gait which I wish all men might copy, Magnus went swiftly on to the west end of the officers' row. Past Miss Saucy, who signalled him from her friend's porch; past Miss Bee, who bowed from an open window; past the talk and the laughter, the scent of chocolate, the certainty of sugar plums. Then at the last house of the old "west limits" he turned sharply round the corner, and began to mount the hill. Small danger of "other girls" here, or of other men, unless a few homesick strollers like himself; and these were passed with only a nod. The real denizens of the roadway were wild and sweet as the day. Red squirrels and brown chipmunks darted across the path, whisked into holes, or chattered in the treetops; "the sound of dropping nuts," the rustle of leaves, the voice of a crow or a gull, only made the stillness more exquisite. The rocks were cushioned with mosses; the ferns and the early fallen leaves of chestnut and butternut made a lovely carpet all about; the clear air seemed strung and tuned to the last pitch of harmony. Far down, down, the winding river, in its varying shades of blue and grey, flowed silently among the hills, flecked with the white wings of two or three sloops and schooners; but all too distant for the murmur of the little waves, the creaking of cordage, to reach him.

Cadet Kindred paused several times at points where the view opened; then addressing himself to the hill again, and choosing the old broken, steep-pitched track of a hundred years ago. The Revolutionary style suited his mood to-day; and he sped up the last steep incline with a will; passed through the old sallyport, sprang up the parapet, and sat down to gaze.

At his feet the rough hillside went in tumbling, breaking fashion down to the little fringe of houses in the officers' row; and beyond them the green plain spread out its fair expanse, with Barracks and Academic Library and Chapel, walling it in on the south. Elsewhere the river, and beyond that again the hills. From above the trees on Trophy Point the fair, curling folds of the flag, with an action which would have been lazy had there been any call for haste, lifted and drooped at the top of the tall white staff. Magnus Kindred stood up again and saluted, with a flourish.

"Yes, old friend," he said, "we are sworn comrades now, whatever happens. One full summer more for me here, and then away to the ends of the earth: but that blessed old rag will fly just as well at San Carlos as at West Point, and be just as ready to read me a lesson."

And with that, Magnus stretched himself out on the green slope, pulled forth Cherry's letter, and read it through twice.

Then he studied the flag again; musing over things he had heard and read. Of the men who ran up the colours when their ship was sinking in the deep, dark sea; of standards dyed with the life-blood of their defenders. Of the failures that yet were a triumphant success.

"I wonder if that fellow loved anybody," Magnus questioned with himself, a stricture coming over his heart at thought of the young soldier under whose death-pillow the brave, pitiful lines were found. "And I wonder if I could have said it in his place? But that is what it means. That is just what I have to do for the old Stars and Stripes—and for the Lord's banner."

And secure against the criticisms of chipmunks and chickadees, Magnus began at the old ballad of the "Star-Spangled Banner," and sang it straight through.

"Well sung, and to the purpose," said a pleasant voice, and Magnus started up, to find a gentleman close behind him; and, as he saw at a glance, no less a person than his friend of the candidate journey.

It was plain, however, that Mr. Wayne did not know him. How could he find in the close-cropped hair the wayward, curly locks of two years ago? or see, in this happy compound of uniform and drill, the homesick boy whom he had cheered and comforted?

"Do not let me disturb you," said the newcomer, taking a seat near Magnus. "I was wandering round among the old walls, thinking how much had crumbled and how much grown up since their day, not knowing there was anyone up here but myself. And when suddenly the dear old song rang out, I could not help coming near to listen. Has it come into fashion again, in these latter days?"

"Not especially, that I know of," said Magnus. "But I was brought up on it."

"So was I. And where were you brought up?"

Magnus named his State.

"Strange!" said Mr. Wayne. "The first boy I ever spoke to who was coming to West Point was from that State; and now so is also the first full-fledged cadet I meet with here."

"Yes, we have a good representation from all our districts," said Magnus.

"Do you men from the same State always hold together in any special way?"

"Against all the rest of the world, yes," said Magnus. "But we often choose our chums from the Antipodes."

"For private and personal reasons, rather than public; I see. But then of course you know them all, more or less; and so you must know the man I am after."

"A relation of yours, sir?" Magnus inquired gravely.

"Oh, no, not at all; only an acquaintance of a day and a night. But I should like to see him again very much; in fact that was why I stopped over a day here. I wonder if he is in the corps still? Must be, I think; he did not look like a fellow to be 'found' in anything,—unless caution and self-control."

"That's a bad showing," said Magnus. "I'd rather chance it in math."

"You must know him, of course, if he is here," Mr. Wayne went on; "for he was from your State, I know. I had his name down—and I also had my pocket-book stolen! Can you tell over the list of your State delegation?"

So Magnus began.

"Smith, J., 2d; Jones, L.; Devius, E.; Smith, T. A.; Marston, Kindred——"

"That's the man!" broke in Mr. Wayne; "Charlemagne Kindred. And you say he is here still?"

"Oh, yes, he's here," said Magnus, with a half groan.

"Doing well?"

"Doing all sorts of ways. He is just back from furlough, and as blue as a mouldy cheese."

"Back from furlough! Ah, then he has seen his mother again. That ought to cure him of doing 'all sorts of ways.' Where does he stand in his class?"

"Oh, he keeps out of the Immortals," said Magnus with a shrug. "Might max it oftener, if he didn't read so many magazines and write so many letters."

"Letters, hey? These 'left behind' girls have a good deal to answer for. And yet such a trust as a woman's life and happiness, ought to steady any man, and put him at his best."

"He has four just such trusts," said Magnus. "I don't know that they'd all die if he went to the bad, but two of them would."

"Four—you seem to know him very well," said Mr. Wayne, turning to look more narrowly at his companion.

"I don't know, sir: sometimes I think I do, sometimes not. He takes me all by surprise every now and then," said Magnus.

But with that he turned his eyes full upon Mr. Wayne, and the recognition was instant.

"And this is you!" said Mr. Wayne. "I see it now. Indeed I think I felt it all along. Sit over there, and let me look at you."

So Magnus changed his seat for another, and went through a new sort of inspection; differing in toto from that of any member of the tactical department. For Mr. Wayne's eyes passed rapidly over grey cloth and bell buttons (Magnus feeling quite sure the while that any dulness or disorder there would have been noted) and came to the young face, with a look so searching and wise that the sunburnt cheeks reddened, and the eyes went down. Only for a moment, however: then they met the search squarely, and with a laugh.

"Yes, sir," said Cadet Kindred, "that is just about what I am."

Privately, Mr. Wayne had been thinking to himself that just what he saw was a remarkably fine-looking fellow, whom anybody might be proud to call son or brother. For the eyes were steady and true; and when the face broke in a smile or a laugh the mouth had the same utterly clean look which had marked it two years ago. Mr. Wayne noted it all, and drew a deep breath of rejoicing.

"I give most humble and hearty thanks," he said, reverently lifting his hat. Magnus sprang up and came back to his old seat.

"Were you so doubtful of me, sir?" he said. "And what made you doubtful?"

"Not doubtful of you, my boy, but certain of the world. And the world—even this little world here—is a hard place."

"This is an awful place!" said Magnus.

"You think so now, because you are just back from furlough. But you will find the world power in full force still, when you get to some far-off frontier post. Very few lives have a steady fair breeze straight into heaven. 'Ye must take the wind in your face if ye will fetch Christ,' said old Samuel Rutherford; and most of us find it so. But then, 'How sweet is the wind that bloweth out of the airth where Christ is.'"

And Magnus remembered instantly that ever since he came to West Point, he had hailed the west wind, because it seemed to come from home.

"How can you always tell, sir, whence it comes?" he asked suddenly. "Being disagreeable doesn't prove a thing right."

"Truly no. But you know what Christ himself is, Mr. Kindred; study him, his character, his will, his throne. It is not hard to match your colours, if you are really so minded. West Point is not so unlike everywhere else as you seem to think. I remember a young man who went from here to Texas, and wrote back that he was still fighting the world, the flesh, and the devil. Finding the world perhaps a little less down there, but the flesh and the devil about as usual. And so you will find it. 'The kingdom of God is within you'—not outside: whether at Governor's Island, or San Carlos."

"What makes you speak of San Carlos, sir?" Magnus said, with almost a start.

"One of the worst posts in the army, is it not?—or counted so?"

"I am not afraid of San Carlos," said Magnus decidedly. "The devil always has to clear out, when an angel comes in."

Mr. Wayne turned and looked at him.

"So!" he said; "that is all settled, is it? But no, my young sir: Satan held a dispute with an archangel once, long enough for some pretty strong words on both sides. And you are going to take an angel to San Carlos!"

Almost just what Mr. Erskine had said.

"Were you ever there, sir?" Magnus asked.

"Oh, yes."

"Doesn't the place need angels?"

And now Mr. Wayne laughed.

"You have the best of me there," he said. "Yes, not a doubt of that, it does. And it is the very place that the white wings love to brighten if they can. But Mr. Kindred, if your particular angel is to live at San Carlos—or anywhere—and not break her heart; spread her white wings and fly away from earth and you together; you have got to fight the devil yourself; hand to hand, and wherever you find him. These earthly angels are not quite so robust as the old painters make out the heavenly to be."

"She is the very centre of my life!" cried Magnus. But Mr. Wayne sighed.

"It happened once," he said, "that a young graduate of West Point brought his three-months' bride not to San Carlos, but to Fortress Monroe. Of course, the 'pleasant fellows' of the garrison went to work to entertain him, and one of them told me this story:

"'We had a little supper party,' he said. 'Not very large, but correct and choice; and we kept it up pretty late; and X. Y. got more than he could manage gracefully. So some of the stronger heads among us set out to get him home. Late, as I said; servants asleep, lights out, and I guess we knocked and rang more than once. Then X. Y.'s young wife came down, candle in hand, to let him in. Poor girl—I did feel sorry for her when I saw her white face, as the candle flared out upon him.'"

There came up before Charlemagne Kindred, as his friend spoke, the vision of another face; so blanched, so stricken in its grief, and all for him. He bowed his head upon his hands.

Mr. Wayne asked never a word. He looked at the fine young man beside him, not knowing just what he might have touched, and then away over the fair hills and the soft flowing river. What a world! Peace written everywhere on the exquisite setting; and everywhere in the picture the sharp life and death conflict. Then the glad words in the Revelation made answer:

"And I saw, and, behold, a white horse; and he that sat on him had a bow: and he went forth, conquering and to conquer."

"Amen!" Mr. Wayne said aloud: adding half under his breath: "'Oh that thou wouldest rend the heavens, that thou wouldest come down, that the mountains might flow down at thy presence!'"

Magnus looked up in surprise.

"Only an old habit of mine," Mr. Wayne said, smiling at him. "I live so much alone, that I very often talk to myself for lack of a listener."

"Do you want to see these mountains flow down?" Magnus asked, gazing in his turn at the fair hills.

"Not these in themselves; only I long for all which the prophet's words imply. To see the crooked made straight, and the rough places plain; to hear the royal proclamation of the Prince of Peace sound out across this burdened earth; one could be willing to have 'every mountain and island' moved out of their places. To have that trumpet blast fill all the air:

"'The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever.'"

"No more miserable captives to the power of evil; no more strong men 'whom Satan hath bound at his own will."

"How naturally the words follow:

"'We give thee thanks, O Lord, because thou hast taken to thee thy great power, and hast reigned.'"

Then Magnus began and told him the whole story; pouring out details, and not sparing himself in the least. And Mr. Wayne listened in deepest silence, with a grave, tender face which drew on confidence. Magnus did not once name Cherry, only at the end he said:

"I told her everything. And if I thought I should ever again make her look as she did then, I think I would shoot myself."

"Powder is very cheap," Mr. Wayne said slowly. "It is the meanest, smallest, silliest back door through which a man ever shirked his difficulties. But to live a strong life, to have one's self in hand and keep a tight rein, that costs, and costs tremendously; demands a man's whole will-power, and the mighty grace of God. There is no promise whatever to the one who runs away; they are all: 'To him that overcometh.'"

"Yes sir, I know," Magnus answered him. "But instead of costing, it seems to me the only life that pays."

"And where do you get dividends, but from investments?" said Mr. Wayne quickly. "You gain from what you put in: knowledge from study, health from exercise, advance from toil. You bone discipline, and you stand one; you bone mathematics, and you max it every time."

"No, you don't," said Magnus. "Not some of us."

"Yes you do. Not all just alike, perhaps; one man puts in more brains than another, and so maybe gets larger returns; but the slower fellow maxes it for him; the dividends are as large as the stock will warrant. And to my mind, that is the only ambition worth a copper. I've no patience with this trying to get ahead of somebody else in any line. Get ahead of yourself; break your own record."

"Not making other men your measure," Magnus said.

"No. That's the way Paul puts it: 'I press toward the mark for the prize'; not to get ahead of Peter or James or John. The colour markers always in advance, flagging out new ground."

"What do you count a man's colour markers, sir?" Magnus said, looking amused.

"Perhaps clean purpose of heart and loyalty to God would come near it. The Great Captain has thrown open to you—to every young man—a wondrous Promised Land. He says: 'Go in and possess it. Ye are well able to overcome.' The land is not all 'fish and cucumbers and melons,' with a good deal of garlic, like the Egypt degradation and bondage; but 'a goodly land of springs and fountains, of oil olive and honey; whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig brass.' I do not believe you cadets are half aggressive enough."

"In what way, sir?"

"Every way. Suppose your colour markers had been up to their duty on that sad night, and you pressing forward for the Lord's 'Well done.'"

"Yes," Magnus answered, with a thrill of pain that somehow got into his voice.

"Or suppose," Mr. Wayne went on, laying a tender hand on the young man's shoulder, "suppose you had been praying for those other men whose ways you knew; working with them, persuading them into the service of Christ?"

"Oh, that could not be," Mr. Kindred said decidedly. "At least, I might pray for them, of course, but I could not say much."

"Why not?"

"Against cadet code, sir. We let each other pretty well alone."

"Cadet code!" Mr. Wayne repeated. "You tease each other now and then, I fancy?"

"Always!"

"And laugh at each other?"

"Without stint."

"Perhaps introduce each other occasionally?"

"Why, of course, sir!" Magnus answered.

"And probably the cadet code would permit you to pull a man out of the river, or tell him the barracks were ablaze? It is framed only against the important things, hey?"

"Don't you call it important to pull a man out of the river?" Magnus asked, with a laugh.

"Rather. Nothing like pulling him into the kingdom."

The clouds sailed silently by, river and hill darkening and brightening as the shadows fell and passed; the leaves rustled softly among the oak branches and stirred with a different music among the pines. Then from far down below sounded a drum—Magnus started up.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne!" he said earnestly. "Come to the guard-house before call to quarters. I must go."

"I will walk down with you," said his friend.

"But I must run!"

And away he went, springing down the hill through every short cut that could be found; the grey and white showing, and hiding, and coming out again further on.

Mr. Wayne watched him with great interest, taking his own pace the while down the hill; and now, as he went, from every other quarter came just such flying figures. From the woods, from Flirtation, from the river; from lingering last words on doorsteps, and girls and bonbons in the houses. Hastening along with the graceful ease of long practice, hurrying to lose themselves behind the grim grey walls of barracks.

And Mr. Wayne watched and laughed; but then his eyes grew grave. Will they make such haste at every call of duty, these gay youngsters? on hand and "ready" at each noble muster? Alas, no! Even now some are getting an "absence," and some a "late," and of others the guns are not cleaned and the bell buttons will be tarnished. Ready! it is a short word; but it means a man's whole ceaseless purpose, self-denial, and care. How little those speeding figures on the green guessed that anybody on the old hillside was praying for them; but I believe the very skill and swiftness with which they darted along, gave stringency to the prayer; such power for good, such forces for evil; such ease in doing the right thing, such recklessness, sometimes, whether it was done or not. Through his glass, Mr. Wayne could study it all out.

See that one now; a tall fellow, going over the ground at a rate to take common people's breath away. It is not altogether his fault that he has to run for it; his best girl is on hand to-day, and this was a critical walk round Flirtation. Drum-calls were scarcely heard, and minutes flew unheeded. No carelessness of orders kept him back, and no contempt for them make him linger now. He does not mean to have even a late; and so dashes on and wins. There is some jeering and clapping as the tall figure comes up; "Two-forty" being his affectionate soubriquet; but all the same he is there, in ranks, with about ten seconds or less to spare.

Another—Oh, yes, he set out to run; anathematising the drum, the parade, and the regulations, and so soon stops; runs again—and stops, with a sort of what's-the-use air. "How much time?" he asks another, who is walking calmly on.

"None at all."

Whereupon he quickens his steps; but not so the second. The drum-beats come thicker and faster—that makes no odds. It is only a "skin" more or less, he says to himself; and he's sure to get it some other way, if not this; and he has lost his Christmas leave already. So, while the rest fall in, and answer to roll-call, he comes leisurely up to barracks, some minutes after the last man has shouted "Here!"

That is Cadet Clinker all through; if he is going to fess, he'll "fess cold." No one knows better than he how many demerits a man may get and still keep his place in the corps; or what delicate shades of meaning there are about "taking advantage of permits." So he runs it here and runs it there; goes off limits in all sorts of ways, places, and times, and gets help from all the friendly smugglers that infest the Post. He is one who entraps others, serving out his stores in many-coloured glasses or dainty cups, teaching the younger men strange oaths and unwholesome ways; making many a weak boy ashamed of his mother's counsels and his father's rules.

"Il y a des héros en mal, comme en bien."

You see he is such a pleasant fellow,—handsome, rich, plausible; a great favourite with the ladies; and with a head about equally divided between folly and mathematics. Excellent gifts, all thrown away; and worst of all, thrown where they are stumbling blocks for other men. But he is a tremendous favourite all the same, with much more courage to do wrong than he has to do right.

It is a thing to see Mr. Clinker come forth and walk about the Post, a day or two after one of his prize-fight exploits. His mouth is swelled, his eyes bruised, his nose knocked out of all its fine proportions. But he steps jauntily along, and the pretty girl at his side gazes up into the disfigured face as if Clinker were one of the first defenders of the country, newly risen from the shadows of old Fort Clinton.

To-night Magnus watched him coming over the plain, and thought of Mr. Wayne's words. No, he had never prayed for Clinker, much less tried to win him to better ways. And Cadet Kindred remarked to himself, quite privately, that he would rather "pull him out of the river" than do that, every time.

Mr. Wayne stayed over Sunday, and Magnus spent with him every minute that he could. The day was still and mild, so they could be out of doors the whole time; and I hardly know which of them enjoyed it most.

"If surroundings made men, you cadets should be the noblest set on earth!" Mr. Wayne broke forth, as late in the afternoon they walked up from Battery Knox, and paused in the little clearing where "Dade and his Command" will be thought of for many a long day. "Such wonders of beauty on every side, in mountains and sky and river; and whichever way you turn, such reminders of men who have 'fought a good fight' on the field of honour. Look at the old flag, and think how it has been shot at and insulted; defied and threatened; yet how splendidly it floats off to-day! And the guns that lie sleeping beneath its shadow were captured by men who knew no such words as 'hard' or 'easy.' And the great iron links once stretched across the river tell of other chains triumphantly broken, in the face of fearful odds. On all sides you find written: 'Faithful unto death.' Life purpose, life and death effort, life-blood, have done it all; the blood of men who 'counted not their life dear unto themselves' when the country had need. And the one traitor among them—why, you will not have his name even in sight! His tablet is a blank."

Slowly pacing up the walk again, Mr. Wayne went on, half to himself:

"Then Paul answered: 'What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart? for I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.' Magnus" (with sudden change of tone) "when we parted two years ago at the Grand Central, I bade you make friends with the flag; now I tell you to open a recruiting office. I think you Christian men in the corps are making a grand mistake."

Cadet Kindred stopped short and faced him.

"Yes," Mr. Wayne said, answering the look; "I know all about it. But the Lord said: 'He that gathereth not with me, scattereth'. And if you think it will be easier to take positive ground and begin positive work for Christ among a lot of strange officers at your first post, I think you are mistaken."

If Cadet Kindred rose up next morning with the very spirit of the Crusades astir in his heart; ready to charge down upon the Saracens, lance in rest; he said to himself as the day went on, that if Mr. Wayne had ever been a West Point cadet, that gentleman would know some things he did not know now.

Here had Magnus been dreaming all night how he knocked a bumper out of Randolph's hand; how he had run Rig up to the first section in French; and how he had pitched Clinker back over the Commissary wall, just in time to prevent his being missed and "skinned." Also how he himself had been publicly thanked for these exploits by the Academic Board in full session. But, alas! "the stuff that dreams are made of" fades in the morning sun, and from these pleasing nocturnal visions Mr. Kindred passed to a particularly tough recitation, with corresponding low marks, and thence to the stubbornest horse in the hall, that would not take the hurdles, and made him instead take the tan. And now, as he sat in his room, tired and growly, the mail brought him nothing but a desperately perfumed pink note. Magnus said "Phew!" and moved to the window.

"Sent the whole shop, hasn't she?" said Rig. "That's Mrs. Newcomb, a mile off."

"Just listen, will you?" said Magnus. "She wants to give a picnic on Crownest, and tells me to bring men enough for five girls! How many apiece, do you suppose?"

"Unknown quantity; all depends on the girls. Who are they?"

"Doesn't tell. Miss Pretty, of course, for one; she is a niece or something. Then there's another girl, 'just from abroad,'—'and the rest you know.' Well, I'll take the new girl, at a venture."

"Then you'll not have to think up any new grinds," said Rig. "Lucky man. And I'll take Miss Pretty. If she's heard all mine before, she won't say so. So we are two."

"And Clinker's three——"

"What do you have him for?" said Rig. "He's in every single thing—when he isn't on the area."

"She wants him. By name," said Magnus. "Hopes 'dear Mr. Clinker will be at leisure.'"

"That's a neat way of hoping he's out of Con." said Rig. "Say, didn't she have a granddaughter or something, getting rubbed up in Paris? That's the new girl."

"Granddaughter!" said Magnus. "Just let Mrs. Newcomb hear you say that! But I'll take the rubbed-up girl, whoever she is, my risk. And Miss Frisk will take you. She's sure to be along."

"Sure to get Clinker, if she is," said Rig. "Wonder if the little Busy Bee will come? Kin, you're hard on that girl."

"Don't want me to be soft, do you?" said Magnus, with the drum cutting him short.

Of course the names of the party were all out before Saturday; the girls could not talk of much else. And as for cadets, each girl might have had five, had the limits of the lunch basket agreed thereto. The day was perfect, the dresses faultless, and Mr. Clinker happily "at leisure," for once.

Not everybody knows—but few try to know—how witching that climb up Crownest is, if you take the old "Cadet Trail." The way goes along for a while at the level of the plain, but then betakes itself to the air; presently mounting up and up with a straight pitch before you. There come turns, of course, winding round some unscaleable rock; and gentler going over a small knoll or two, and quite a level stretch around the shoulder, in the "Nest." But very often it is just a steep ladder of a path, to be climbed as best you can. A wilderness of grey rock and green woods; feathery hemlocks, sombre oaks, ash trees, maples, and hickory. Below these, dogwood and other "cornels," with ironwood, shad blossom, witch hazel, and laurel. Lower still ferns—unlike those in the valley; with orchids of a new type, yellow gerardias, purple gerardias, partridge berry, and wintergreen. Then the brown leaves of last year, half covering the mosses, and thickly sprinkled in turn with the red and yellow of to-day.

The rarest scents are in the air: the balsam breath of the sweet brier, and from the new-fallen and falling leaves that special fragrance of the autumn woods—sweet, racy, heart-piercing, a waft from days gone by and withered, their work all done.

Many of the birds have already gone South; but robins are here, and chickadees, and the cry of the gulls is in perfect keeping with the cool air and the white caps on the river.

Up through this wilderness of wild and fragrant things, the little party went joyously along; or if not quite that on Mrs. Newcomb's part, yet it is painful to relate that her trips and stumbles did but heighten the fun for all the rest. In many a place it took two men to get her on at all. Magnus would leave his pretty companion safe on some high standpoint, jump down again himself, and with Crane on the other side carefully engineer Mrs. Newcomb to a place beside her niece. It might also be noticed that Mr. Clinker and his convoy generally lagged behind at such crises, or got into some tangle themselves, from which they came out, safe and suddenly, as soon as Mrs. Newcomb was disposed of. And by and by Cadet Kindred, being quite alive to the situation, quickened his pace, and passed on too far ahead for any new service to be required of him.

On and up the two flitted along—like grey and red squirrels, averred the toiling Mrs. Newcomb; but even for themselves there were difficulties.

Here, for instance, stands an immense rock that stops the way. And as Miss Lane measures it with her eyes, behold! there is Magnus on top of it, reaching down his hand to her.

"Do you expect me to climb up there?" Cadet gives a little gesture of the head which Dickens would have said meant, "He rather thought so."

"How did you get there yourself?"

"Came."

"Are there any snakes up there?"

"Not so many as where you are."

Miss Lane seized his hand, made unheard-of efforts, and mounted the rock, then looked down complacently.

"Why, how slow you are!" she cried. "Just jump up as I did. Oh—what was that—a rattle?"

"Yes; Rig's tin pail against his buttons," said Magnus, laughing.

"I wish he'd give it to someone who does not wear buttons. Must people always carry tin pails when they go out to enjoy themselves?"

"You'll like it at the top. And we're almost there now."

Trees grew shorter and scarcer, rocks stood up in bolder self-assertion; and, with a last steep climb, the grey and the red came out upon the mountain's lovely head, and, after a shout of victory, sat down to look and breathe. Oh, how wonderfully fair earth is from the top of Crownest!

On the west, beyond the dipping hillside, the broad valley lay in seven shades of green—slope beyond slope—till it touched the soft horizon blue. To the north, the far-off Catskill range rose, shoulder to shoulder, from the more level land, a great lonely pile. Then on the south, beyond the locked-in Highlands, Tappan lay shimmering in the sunlight, a blue inland sea; while just across the river on its eastern shore, the bluff ends of the mountains fell apart, and you could see the long valleys between; the grey-green ridges like grim ribs, running eastward towards the Connecticut line. The river itself was decked with various craft; over all there wandered a faint, fitful north breeze.

From their vantage ground Magnus and his companion watched the toiling party below, for whom neither earth nor sky had any special charm just then. Privately Mrs. Newcomb was assuring herself, that the next time she gave a picnic it would not be on the top of Crownest; the girls might say what they liked. And Mr. Clinker was inwardly chafing against the good lady's value in avoirdupois. (Quite literally, sometimes, when on a bad bit of road she surged up against him.) Rig was laughing to himself at them, at Magnus, and at things generally; and aloud at the sallies of Miss Freak; while the last couples of the party fumed a little at the slow progress and the narrow trail. How came those two to get ahead? There they sat, in triumphant ease, the grey and the red.

"You men are a very peculiar set," Miss Lane said suddenly.

"I am sure you ladies are."

"Oh, I am not talking of the whole human race," said Miss Lane: "it is cadets that are so odd, so unlike other people."

"That is good," said Magnus. "One would not wish to be like everybody else."

"How you chop one up. I mean other students. Do you try to be unlike all other cadets?"

Magnus shook his head.

"I get the credit sometimes, without trying."

"And I can see you deserve it, too," said the girl. "You would have tugged Aunt Newcomb all the way up here, if you hadn't thought Mr. Clinker meant you should."

Magnus laughed.

"Do you call that being odd?" he said. "It is just even."

"And then, instead of standing off like a shirk, you did the polite thing and ran away. Do you always run from difficulties, Mr. Kindred?"

"Bad for me if I do," said Magnus. "A foe in the rear is worth two in front."

"Then you generally fight?"

"People, or things?"

"Both."

"Well, as to the people," Magnus answered, "I have not been much tried. It depends on yourself somewhat, I fancy; and I have never been challenged since I entered the Corps."

"What would you do if you were?"

"What I would, is one thing," Magnus said rather slowly. "By my good leave, I should say no."

"Would you—and be pointed at?"

"You're sure to be pointed at for something," Magnus answered lightly. "It's a choice of cases."

"But I cannot imagine a man like you saying no!" said the girl eagerly. "Not fight, if you were challenged? You are brave, I know."

"How do you know? If I am, I shall never fight for fear of being pointed at."

"But why?" Miss Lane repeated, her bright eyes searching his face. "Tell me quick, Mr. Kindred. They'll all be up here directly, and I cannot possibly wait to know till to-morrow. Why wouldn't you fight? I believe you could whip any man in the Corps."

"There is one rule," said Magnus, meeting her look, "which I have sworn to keep. It is an old rule, and a short one, but it covers a great deal of ground. 'Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' I could not so endorse my acceptance of a challenge."

The girl looked at him with wide open eyes.

"You will find those old rules of yours terribly in the way, sometimes," she said.

"Sure sign that I am off the track, then," said her companion, smiling. "Fences don't matter when you mean to keep the road. But doubtless most good things have their inconvenient side."

"Aunt Newcomb, for instance," said Miss Lane, changing her tone. "I think I should count both sides 'inconvenient,' if I had to pull her up the hill. By the way, Mr. Kindred, why didn't your rule oblige you to take the brunt of the burden to the last?"

"It might in some cases," said Magnus; "not in this. Clinker had to earn his lunch, and there was no other way for him to do it."

"Well, there they come," said Miss Lane, rising up, "to cut short our talk; I am quite sorry. You interest me, Mr. Kindred; cadets with 'views' are a novelty. But I rather wish you would fight!"

"I dare say I could get a broken head in the riding-hall some day, when I'm on Dangerfield—would that do?" said Magnus, laughing back at her as he went forward to give Mrs. Newcomb a hand, which was gratefully taken.

"Oh, Mr. Kindred—thank you! This has been certainly—the most awfully grand—walk I ever experienced."

"It isn't a walk at all, Aunt Newcomb," said Miss Freak. "It's a clamber, and a climb, and the roughest sort of time. I've ruined my best pair of shoes, and not another this side of New York. And five walks on hand for to-morrow."

"Get an order on the Captain from the Com.," Rig suggested.

"Fit warranted," said Miss Freak, putting her little foot out into the sunlight. "I wonder you don't offer me your own, Mr. McLean, at once, and save what is left of mine."

"You wouldn't need but one," said Rig; "and regulations require me to have two."

"Much you care for regulations, up here."

"Freaky, my dear," said her aunt, "I wish you girls would unpack the baskets, and heat up our coffee. I am just worn out."

"But you must have a fire," said Miss Lane. "Who'll make it?"

Then followed the prettiest, liveliest bustle. The hilltop all around them was covered with a low growth of huckleberry bushes; and here and there, scattered about among this, were twigs and sticks and chips, dry and bleached and just ready to burn.

Choosing with some care a rock whence the fire could not easily spread, a gay little blaze was soon kindled, and the cold coffee put under—or over—its care. Then busy hands unpacked or uncovered the baskets. Sandwiches were in one, cake in another, late peaches filled a third. Miss Freak had a box of Huyler's somewhat luscious sweets; Miss Newcomb an assortment of peanut brittle, cocoanut cakes, and sweet chocolate; and the wind kept still, and did not blow even a napkin away.

But the last time Magnus Kindred had been at a picnic, it was in the far-away home region, and with just the home group around him; and now it all came back to him in a moment; with the tones of his mother's voice as she asked for a blessing on their day's pleasure. And I suppose it was this that made him pause unconsciously, after he had taken his stand by the fire to pour out the steaming coffee.

"What is it?" said Mrs. Newcomb, in her plaintive voice. "Not hot yet?"

Then Miss Freak laughed out, and Miss Newcomb looked at her, and Miss Lane watched this cadet who had "views."

"Oh, aunty!" cried Miss Freak, "don't you know he's one of the too-good-for-this-earth boys? Why, coffee out of an ice box would scald his throat, if somebody didn't pray over it first. He's waiting for you to say grace, ma'am."

"Waiting for me!" Mrs. Newcomb repeated helplessly. "But your uncle always does it, you know, Freaky."

"Well, he isn't here," said Miss Freak. "Come, aunty!" The girls were choking themselves with their pocket-handkerchiefs; the cadets, better used to endurance, kept their gravity intact. Charlemagne Kindred stood absolutely still; but his thoughts went flying back to the honeysuckle-wreathed porch, and Cherry, and how she had waited for him. Blessings on her! she never came near him but to do him good.

"Why doesn't the man pour out his coffee?" Miss Lane was saying impatiently to herself.

"Mr. Kindred," said Mrs. Newcomb in a sort of appeal—"girls, be quiet—I am ashamed of you. Mr. Kindred, will you be kind enough to say grace yourself? Of course, it is quite proper to have it done, and a man can do it so much better."

"Not this man!" So shot the feeling through Cadet Charlemagne. This man, who had never even come near such a thing in public. But quick as Nehemiah got his orders, so on the instant the young cadet had his. Was he not pledged to shun no point of witness-bearing? And, with again one swift thought of Cherry, Magnus obeyed; standing there by the little fire, while good Mrs. Newcomb bowed her head, and the others watched him from their mossy seats. And the words were Cherry's own, as she had said them on that well-remembered morning.

"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much." This was a very small thing to do, but I think nobody ever guessed what it cost Magnus Kindred. And as little did he imagine, how that small bit of open confession broadened out and took its full proportions to other eyes. There was something in the serious face, something in the reverent voice, something about it all, indeed, that everybody felt. As Mr. Kindred came forward now with Mrs. Newcomb's coffee cup, Clinker looked at him curiously, McLean with a sort of wondering veneration, while Miss Lane said to herself: "Fight! Of course he could!" But then Magnus threw himself into the fun, and in two minutes had fanned the frolic to a point that quite outshone the fire.

"So nice to have a private chaplain along," Miss Freak had said airily, trying to throw off her thoughts. But the other girls frowned down all attempts at fun in that direction, and harmony reigned. Or, to speak more correctly, the lunch baskets reigned in a very harmonious atmosphere.

Sitting about on moss or stones, after the good cheer had vanished, the cadets got off so many "grinds" that poor Mrs. Newcomb declared she should have no strength left to help her down the hill. Then they sang songs, and gave out conundrums. The girls made chains of the pine needles, and the men in grey put them on, and declared them emblematic and imperishable.

On her part, Miss Lane went on with her study of Magnus Kindred, watching him keenly. She noticed that though he took the frail green links from her hands, putting them round his cap, twining them about his arm, he said no word of their being "fetters"—called them garlands, instead. She felt that in all the light play, the cavalier-like deference, there was no sham devotion, no hint of deeper things. Yet he wore his class ring. And she knew she was pretty, and felt certain she was well dressed. It piqued her; she would have liked to see those green chains press hard, with a permanent sensation. And then, when she went off to look at some side view which Mr. Clinker recommended, what did Mr. Kindred do but seat himself by Mrs. Newcomb and talk to her! It was extremely trying.

I think, to me, the way down Crownest is more difficult than the way up; taking hold perhaps upon a set of less-used muscles; but the party all came safe and sound to the lower level and easier going of the plain.

"Now you must be sure and come to us at Christmas," Mrs. Newcomb was saying, as they parted. "We shall expect you all."

"Well, I can't come, sorry to say," Mr. Clinker answered with a laugh. "I've got a previous with the Com. Awfully hard lines for me—but it's just my luck."

Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, they were men that stood alone. —James Russell Lowell.

Cold weather came early. Mrs. Newcomb's picnic was the last of the season, and most of the human birds of passage grew chilly, and took their bright plumage back to city streets. A few visitors lingered on; people with no children to put to school, or with some son or brother in the Corps.

Only the steadfast old hills flung out their hardy colours—and flung them off; decking themselves with an occasional white cap instead. The blue river rolled by in deep foamy wrinkles; the distant Catskills had donned their snow.

No parades now, but noisy drills, with light battery, siege battery, and sea-coast guns, making the hills roar out in countless echoes. Only Battery Knox lay quiet, unmoved in all the commotion, keeping silent watch near the white shaft of "Dade and his Command." While far away beyond the hubbub, a small army of white and grey and brown stones told of other soldiers, who had fought their last battle, and answered to the last command. Very little told there, indeed, but of the soldier; the man almost left out. But on one old, old stone are words to make one's heart leap up for joy:

"He that doeth the will of God, abideth forever."

October ran its bright course, and the shorter, darker days of November came softly in, but very fair, even yet. The hills set forth their rocky heights and fastnesses, stripped now of the softening leaves, and still the cold grey of the stone was warmed and clouded with the wilderness of brown tree stems. And every here and there rose up a tall hemlock or cedar or pine, in its dark, dauntless green, while not a few red oaks still sported the tatters of their autumn flags. Along the river on the lower ground, black alder bushes showed a wealth of "winter berries," beautiful as coral beads, and a close match in colour.

Drills ceased, and dress parade began; and in the dusky time between gunfire and supper the men had chance for a good constitutional upon the well-swept sidewalk of the officers' row. Wrapped in long grey fearnaughts, with steady, swinging step, they went up and down, in ones and twos and threes, almost like an open procession; talking, talking, and discussing. Now the last blunder of the "Com.," now the latest whim of the "Supe"; then the marks of the day. Here, consigning all tactical officers to the prompt dealing of a drumhead court-martial, and here busy with the charms of some fair new girl. Oftenest of all, perhaps, dwelling on Graduation, Furlough, and First-class camp.

But you never saw them walk arm in arm, like other students,—this would strike any stranger. Close together, but both hands free. Perhaps the regulation salute, with its frequent, instant, and exact demands, may be partly the cause of this.

A fellow once hastening over to the hop with a girl on one arm, and her shoes and fan laying claim to the other, passed a certain dignitary with only a bow of the head, and was of course reported.

Going next day to explain and get the report off, he was told:

"Drop the girl! Drop the shoes! Salute, salute!"

Another feature of West Point life which I think would strike unwonted eyes, is the universal opening of front doors at four o'clock. Up to that time, after the midday refection of whatever name, West Point on the plain might be a city asleep, with slow pacing sentries guarding its slumbers. But when the sweet four o'clock bugle sounds out, waking the echoes and the antagonistic dogs, the houses wake up too. Bonnets go on, gloves slide into place, and the fair wearers come forth with a delightful sense of expecting or being expected (for both things are in place), and the thinnest veil of unconcern to hide it all. It is a very pretty scene.

Officers and professors come hastening back from the section room, gay turnouts wheel hither and thither, and the cadets are presently out in force. For drill, for parade, for walks, according to the time of year and the state of the weather. Football was not yet the rage, in Magnus Kindred's time, nor bicycles; and so every man you met was practising the noble art of walking, or showing how splendidly West Point can ride.

As November speeded away, Christmas leave began to rise up in the distance, and to claim many thoughts. Men who had lost it were down on their "luck" (the cadet spelling for carelessness), men who had won it debated in what way the few dear hours of freedom should be spent; and many a fellow from some far-down or far-off corner of the land stood pledged to go with his happier friend whose home was nearer by.

In all these joys, as usual, the poor fourth classmen had no share. They walked, indeed, like the rest; one must do something; but they talked gloomy things. No Christmas leave for them—and not much of anything else but hard work. They were not supposed to need anything else. No damsels on the sidewalk proffered them sugar plums, very few people even knew them by sight.

I will do Magnus Kindred the justice to say that the keen memory of some of his own early days at the Post made him a little bit thoughtful of these forlorn young strangers. It was no great credit to him, perhaps, if he now and then passed on to fourth class hands a box of Miss Flirt's best candy, but he did better than that. He gave words of encouragement and counsel, cheered up the faint hearts, and would smile and speak to a pleb on the sidewalk, just as if he himself had not been first sergeant, and a prime favourite with the ladies.

Some people will say he could have had no time to look after anyone but himself, but you never know how much you have, till you divide it up with needy people. And I doubt if helping takes more time than hazing. It is rather a question of which word you will say, what look you will give. And there had come to Cadet Kindred the wholesome perception that he could be a power for good or for evil, with all these younger boys. Consciously or unconsciously, they were watching the upper classmen, and taking tone from them.

"What is in the way of your living just as earnest Christian lives here, as at home?" he had said one day to some plebs who were gradually sliding back from all their good home habits. And one answered:

"Because we are so far from home, sir, and can't go to church so often, and can't keep Sunday as we have been taught."

But another said boldly:

"Because the first classmen are so different in camp from what they are in prayer-meeting."

And it set Magnus to thinking. His own pleb days were not so long past that he could forget how he used to watch Mr. Upright, to see what all his brave words in the prayer meeting came to in the week; finding the first captain's straight everyday walk a constant help. And just such service he himself was called upon to render to these new men.

It had been a doubt with Mr. Kindred, as the holidays drew on, whether after all he would use his Christmas leave. He had it, easy enough, but what should he do with it? Home was too far away to be even thought of, and short of home, what was there he cared for? Magnus rather thought he would stay at the Post.

However, as the time drew near, and Mrs. Newcomb renewed her invitation, and Mrs. Beguile sent up hers, Magnus yielded to the prospective charms of the Metropolitan Museum, Central Park, and New York harbour; and joined the gay party that were going to town. Five days' escape from the reveille gun was, after all, worth something.

Busy, gay days! In their quiet "cit" dress the cadets roamed about all day, and then at night, in correct cadet costume, went to dinner here and supper there, until Magnus thought he must have been presented to all the pretty girls in town. Rooms were full of floating sashes and falling lace and skirts that could "stand alone": and the men in grey moved about among the airiest kind of clouds and billows; a maze of bewildering scents and sounds and visions, with old friends and new on every hand.

The last night of all there was a large gathering of young people at the house of Mrs. Beguile, and of course the West Pointers were petted and wondered over to their hearts' content. In fact Magnus had more of it than he wanted; he grew tired of being asked for bell buttons, and telling how often he had his hair cut. McLean enjoyed it, and Randolph could never have too many girls around, even if the fair creatures had to stand on tiptoe and peep over each other's shoulders. But Mr. Kindred was in a very critical mood, thinking of Cherry; and found himself comparing necks and shoulders on every hand. He was saying stringent things to himself anent one of the prodigal owners, when Mrs. Beguile touched him on the arm.

"I do not wonder you are lost in admiration," she said, following his eyes, which were just then fixed on the youngest Miss Fashion; an extremely handsome young lady, too much of whose dress seemed to have slid down to the floor in a mass of curling frills and furbelows.

"Like Venus rising from the sea, is she not, Mr. Kindred, with her white foamy draperies?"

Magnus considered this rendering.

"Why did Venus rise from the sea?" he asked abruptly. But now Mrs. Beguile looked at him.

"Why?" she repeated. "Dear me! how should I know? I'm not the least bit classical. Because she liked to, I suppose. But my dear Mr. Kindred, as our great poet has beautifully remarked, 'Life is a business, not good cheer.' Will you come with me and make yourself useful?"

"What an opening—to a man who has been totally useless for the last four days!" Magnus answered, as he followed his hostess to the supper room. "But if your poet had seen that table, Mrs. Beguile, he would have written down life to be good cheer and not business—couldn't help it, you know; it would have confused his mind to that extent."

Mrs. Beguile took this as a great joke, and went about repeating it.

"Cadets have such pretty ways of saying things," she remarked. "Oh, Busy, here's Mr. Kindred. You used to see him at West Point, you know, and he's just as nice as ever."

Poor little Miss Bee! Did she need to be assured of that? But she bore herself gallantly, was just glad enough and not too glad to see him, gave one thought to her dress—so unfashionably high and plain—and never found out with what deep approval Cadet Kindred noticed its modest cut and simple trimmings.

"Cherry might ask her to be one of the bridesmaids," he thought. Poor little Mabel!

"Say, Kin," Rig confided to him as he went by with Miss Flirt's empty plate; "just two things not here, cast-iron pancakes, and 'Sammy.'"

"And the first captain," added Randolph, "yelling out 'Battalion, rise!' before we're half through."

"What do you think of this, for Commissary beef?" quoth Twinkle, devouring a sandwich in blissful ignorance of its component parts.

"Mr. Kindred! Mr. Kindred!" called out Miss Freak from a window seat behind him; "do please get me a glass of punch. I'm just dying with thirst."

Magnus stepped over to a side table and brought the young lady a glass of sparkling cold water. Miss Freak promptly handed it back.

"What did you bring that for?" she asked. "I didn't say water, man alive!"

"Best thing I know, when you are thirsty," said Magnus. "Try it once."

"Try it once," the girl repeated mockingly. "Do you suppose I never have?"

"She wants punch," remarked Miss Saucy.

"She thinks she does."

"She knows she does," said Miss Freak, with a stamp of her little foot. "You'd better believe she knows what she wants."

"I never heard that ladies could not be mistaken, did you?" said Magnus provokingly.

"Mrs. Beguile! Mrs. Beguile!" called out Miss Freak, "here's one of your guests very rude to me!"

"What is it, Freaky?" asked the good lady, bustling up. "Rude to you? Oh, I guess not. Mr. Kindred will take care of you."

"If she will let me."

"Why, he's the very man!" said Miss Freak. "I want some punch, and he'll not get it for me."

"Not get it for you, dear?"

"Doused me with cold water," said the young lady, pouting.

"Doused you!" Mrs. Beguile looked at the pink draperies, which gave no sign of such heroic treatment; then she turned to Magnus.

"I am trying to take care of her, Mrs. Beguile," Magnus said.

The good lady looked at him,—the clean, clear face, the bright eyes; looked across to the great punch bowl, where the ladling and quaffing went ceaselessly on, her own boys among the crowd, and a shadow fell on her placid face.

"Do you drink nothing but water yourself, Mr. Kindred?"

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Not even punch?"

"No, ma'am."

Another look went across the room, and then Mrs. Beguile said with a half sigh:

"Freaky, if I were you, I'd let him take care of me as he thinks best; and of himself, too. You are a brave man, Mr. Kindred."

"'The Lord cover his head in the day of battle,'" said a low voice behind Magnus. He turned quickly, but perhaps the speaker had turned too, for he saw no sign.

"I thought you wouldn't fight?" said Miss Lane, laughing up at him.

As for Miss Freak, she pouted, and made believe cry; and Randolph darted over to the great bowl, coming back with a glass of punch in each hand, one for his own companion and one for Miss Freak.

"Such airs!" commented portly Mrs. Chose, sailing by. "Setting himself up above the rest of the world. Just the way with those West Pointers. I told you so, Miranda; more strut than sense. I'll never take you to West Point again."

"Oh, yes you will," said Miss Miranda cheerfully, "because I'm going. Give me the strut, every time."

"I admire your courage, Mr. Kindred," said another lady; "it is quite touching in so young a man. But I am always sorry to see a fine thing wasted, thrown away: misdirected zeal, you know, for instance. You cannot think for a moment that one of those small glasses of punch could affect a person in any way?"

"It might make him want another, Mrs. Bright," Magnus answered respectfully. She was a very pleasant, sensible woman, and had always been very kind to him.

"Want another? Well, let him have it. Two such glasses of simple punch? Why, the head that wouldn't stand that isn't worth the purchase."

"Mine would be worth more before than it would after," Magnus answered gaily, but not without a twinge.

"Oh, are you particularly susceptible?"

"Not that I know of, ma'am."

"Of course, if you are," the lady went on, "you do right to let it alone. But you might grant others the pleasure. Really, I think it is rather narrow of you, Mr. Kindred, and so I don't like it. You know you have always been my model cadet."

Magnus bowed.

"Fences have a narrow look, I do suppose," he said, "but they are good things, in spots. And I'd rather disappoint you so, than in some other ways, Mrs. Bright."

The two stood silent for a moment, looking off towards the punch bowl. Men came and went, and went and came, with other people's glasses; and then stood still and emptied their own. Young men, old men, with women on the outskirts.

"And you will not get me a glass?" said Mrs. Bright; looking up at her favourite.

"No, ma'am, if you please," Magnus said, with very winning deference. "You will not ask me, Mrs. Bright?"

"You cannot think there is any risk for me? Would it be against West Point regulations? But they are not in force here."

"No; although West Point honour is mine to guard, wherever I am," answered Magnus. "But I have said it to myself, that I will never take nor give the stuff in any form. For a regulation older than West Point, Mrs. Bright."

"What, then?"

"'If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no meat while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend.'"

Very hilarious voices from the region of the punch bowl emphasised the clear, brave words.

"I don't like it," said the lady frankly. "You upset all my ideas."

"But why do you keep him mewed up here in the corner, Mrs. Bright?" said Miss Saucy, who had been listening intently behind backs. "I don't believe he's had one scrap of supper. Have a cup of tea; do, Magnus. You can't live upon air, man, even in the plural. Here's some I brought you myself. Taste it and see how good it is. You like lemon, I know."

Magnus took the cup from the glittering fingers, expressed his thanks, and tasted as he was bid. Then instantly turned and set the full cup down on the table, coming back to his place without a word.

A great burst of laughter greeted him. Miss Saucy fairly sank down into a chair, and Miss Newcomb and a half-dozen more clapped hands with delight.

"What is all this?" said Mrs. Bright sternly; the screaming style was not to her taste, and she had caught the sudden flush and gleam on the face of Charlemagne Kindred. "What is all this, girls?"

"Rum," Magnus said briefly.

"It wasn't!" cried Miss Saucy; "it was good, honest tea, Mrs. Bright."

"With dishonest seasoning."

"That was a very unladylike trick," said Mrs. Bright. "Girls, I am extremely astonished at you. Rum in tea? Why, I never heard of such a thing."

"Oh, aunty," cried Miss Freak, with her hands on her sides, "there's lots of things you never heard of!"

"Well, I am glad I have heard of you!" said Mrs. Bright, giving Magnus a good grip of her hand. "Glad I have heard you, too. And now I must go."

Miss Lane, who had been a keen looker-on at all this, came up a little closer.

"How does it work?" she said softly. "You know I warned you those old rules would get in your way."

"They have not yet," said Magnus. "I am all standing, thank you."

"I see; straighter than ever. It's a great thing to have 'views,'" said Miss Lane, with a laugh. "When they materialise like yours."

For a few minutes the air was full of "See you at the New Year's Hop"—"Take you to the Hundredth Night"—"Come for first-class camp." Then the company separated, the lights went out, and the punch bowl was left to its own reflections.

The January examination that year came on and went off, bearing with it but few wrecks. One or two hard-working men who were cut out for lines of life where mathematics counted less; with two or three careless ones who coveted lines where there was no work at all. And now in everybody's mind the cold days and hard studies ranged themselves in a shortening vista, with June at the end. June! the short word for first-class camp, furlough, yearling camp, and graduation. While to Charlemagne Kindred and many another, was added in the thought of friends at home who had promised to grace June with their presence. Some men talked about this, but he never did—at least, not in full. To his roommate he did sometimes speak of his mother and her coming, but not of his sisters; never of Cherry. No one knew that she existed, except the men who had been there, and they had been very much thrown off to the other girls even then. And as Magnus was extremely popular at West Point, there were always girls at hand to suggest unlimited chaffing, without crossing the continent to find occasion thereto. Letters came and went in troops, of course, but so they did for other men. Three girls he never heard of wrote to Magnus, desiring a correspondence, and he turned the letters over to Mr. Trent, who had quite a lively time. Thus, one way and another, the weeks swung on, and Washington's birthday was close at hand.

"One hundred days to June!"

So rang out the joyful tidings in the Mess Hall one snowy winter morning, making the old place on a sudden all summer with warm exultation. It was almost beyond belief; and the fourth classman detailed to announce the date might have been chaired and borne back to barracks on the shoulders of the crowd, had such doings been allowed at the Academy. As things were, however, all that could be given him was the further privilege of announcing next morning, that the days had dwindled to ninety nine.

But just in here came the Hundredth Night extravaganza; like Hallowe'en, or the Carnival, or any other special occasion when wits run wild.

If I should try to give you the details of any one particular Hundredth Night frolic, I might either make anomalous blunders or else mark out and specify some one special year, and so date my story. Let me rather, then, give a chance medley from many celebrations, of things that were done—or might have been done—only vouching for the general truth of its details.

Of course Magnus Kindred was in the forefront of everything, with his untiring energy, fine voice, and ready wit; and no beavers could have worked harder over a winter house, than these men over one winter frolic. Plans, dresses, scenery, jokes, and poems, with here and there an elaborate mock-machine; what patience, what perseverance, what endless fertile wits, they did display. Every Saturday afternoon, every minute of release from quarters, went into the work. Ladies were called upon for hints and materials; good-natured officers gave their accoutrements and their advice. The very professors lent their coats to the wicked boys who were preparing to "skin" their benefactors, in the only way possible to cadets.

For the men in grey may not argue, remonstrate, or petition; may not even ask why. "Theirs but to do and die," as they themselves would put it; until the Colour Line comes round, or the Hundredth Night. Then, twice in the year, they are allowed to state their opinions, grievances, and desires, though still within certain limits. Woe be to the man who ventures to disagree with his instructor in the section room; but at the Hundredth night he may make what fun of him he can—within limits.

Of late, however, the censorship over these frolics has been so strict that they are shorn of their old glory. The wild garden effect has changed into more "correct" growths, well trained and trimmed: less distinctive, less individual. Wits will not play without space to play in. But in those times of which I write, it seems to have been thought that steam pent up was more dangerous than the same blown off; and that the quips and jibes and flings, so dear to cadet hearts, were most innocuous when well shaken up and aired twice a year.

Cadet rebukes rarely miss the mark through being wrapped in too much cotton. But if a few cuts and scratches follow they are not deep, and the surrounding fun half heals them. I defy anybody to look grave, when that grey house "comes down" in a roar of merriment.

Of course, many of the jokes are so local and technical that a stranger would be puzzled. West Point affairs, personal hits at cadets, or memories of the section room, figure largely. But whether you understand or not, you have to laugh, just for the rollicking joy that goes on behind you. The jolly storm of applause sweeps you helplessly along.

There are years when you go to the Hundredth Night between snowbanks as high as yourself, and along slippery white paths; there are others when the hills are clouded, and the mist hangs low, and the gas lights twinkle and peer through a grey veil. There are still others when air and hills and sky are at the brightest and bonniest, with a clear, hard, brown earth; and you cross the plain amid a glory of contesting lights:—gas round the quarters; a young moon dipping her lovely crescent behind the hill; Newburgh's electric lights winking and blinking like live things, from ten miles away; and close before you, the whole front of barracks in a blaze of lit-up rooms. It is so fair, so weird, that you can only look and look, back and forth, from side to side.

As you gaze and loiter, small parties pass you on the way: people intent upon other effects than those of light and shadow. Generally a cadet with a girl—or two girls; with sometimes a chaperon, and sometimes not. But remember that every West Point cadet is held to be a knight par excellence; a gentleman all through; and so, by long usage and experience, judged to be a fit and sufficient escort on every such occasion. It is the regular thing.

And then when the figures flit by you side by side or arm in arm; pink and grey, or grey and yellow, or, as now, furs and cadet cloth, all your comment is for the pretty combination. And when some solitary greatcoat goes speeding along to meet an appointment at the Hotel or the houses, you instantly hope that the girl will not keep him waiting.

For the minutes are running on; and whoever wants a good seat—or a seat at all—had better not delay.

There is a grey throng about the steps of the old Mess Hall, and girls in quantity.

They press up the stone steps, and pour into the hall, pretty and flushed, proud and sufficient. Officers with their families join in, and now and then a distinguished stranger; and these fill up the front seats. Then come civilians, visitors, and their escorts. Behind the curtain mysterious sounds of tools at work tell of preparations not quite complete. There is music, a pause, and more music; and then from behind the curtain a tall, grey figure steps gravely forth, bows low to the audience, and begins the regulation Hundredth Night address. It is the president of the first class.

Whoever makes the speech, and whatever else he puts in it, the refrain is always:

"One hundred days to June!"

I think I never knew but one exception; and I missed the old words then; but this night they were in full force. Yet the speech was in some ways as unlike most others as he himself was different from many men. Strong, tall, square shouldered, both mentally and physically, Cadet Trueman no more thought of turning a stone wall, or dodging a river, than if they had been pebbles and rivulets. Which way he ought to go, that way he went; the only sort of a steeplechase in which no man comes to grief. Not a brilliant man, but a diligent; "hard work and hard praying" had brought him nobly through. Trueman stood high, wore high chevrons, and knew less (experimentally) of the area of barracks than any man in his class. No ladies' man, as you might guess; although the chevrons, or something, won him many admiring looks. But if ever you met Mr. Trueman meandering round Flirtation with a girl, you might be sure it was a case of philanthropy, pure and simple, and that the damsel was on his hands by no volition of his own. And he never asked for the further favour of a walk after chapel, or on O. G. P. He always acquitted himself well on such occasions, but that was the last of it; and he joyfully slid back among the bachelors again. And now, as he came forward and bowed to the expectant throng, no thought of any—or all—the bright eyes in the room made his pulse one throb the quicker. He had stir enough, in the mere heading of his speech:

"One hundred days to June!"

"Who is that?" whispered a stylish new girl for whom Magnus Kindred played cavalier.

"Fort Put. In moments of deepest affection, 'Old Put.'"

"How absurd you cadets always are! Wherefore do you call him that?"

"Only thing in the neighbourhood like him. Crownest is a trifle large for even his inches."

The girl looked indignant, as if she thought Magnus was fooling her; but then the speech began.

Happy for you, perhaps, that no complete copy has come to my hands; you are spared the danger of being even asked to read it. But the last sentences so fixed themselves in Magnus Kindred's mind that he sent them off to Cherry next day, word for word. And of course I have unlimited control of the correspondence. "Ladies and Gentlemen" figured politely in the opening words, but Cadet True soon forgot them; looking clean across the gay flower garden in front to the grey mass behind: the vivid, eager, forceful lives hid away beneath those trim dress coats.

"One hundred days to June! To freedom, to power, to Life! Men of 18—, shall your freedom be liberty or license? your power sworn in for good, or for evil? Shall life be a failure—or a success? The names that rank highest to-day, will they keep their proud position? The names that stand lower, will they show the world what they could have done here, but for Wave Motion and Spanish?"

And now Mr. Trueman had to pause, for this mention of their dire enemies brought the grey house down.

"It may be—it can be, if you will," he went on. "Every man has it in him to do royal work. 'The people that know their God shall be strong, and do exploits.'

The grey figure bowed and disappeared behind the curtain amid great cheering.

"Good for you, Old Put!" cried Magnus heartily. "You see," he explained to his companion, "True's just the same (or a trifle better) in barracks than he is at prayer-meeting. That's how he won his name. Nothing but treachery could have put the old fort in the hands of the enemy,—and that failed. I believe," said Mr. Kindred, turning bright eyes on his companion, "that if Arnold had carried out his plan, the rocks on the hillside would have risen up and fought back the invaders."

Miss Cray looked at him.

"You're very patriotic, aren't you, Mr. Kindred?"

"Rather," Magnus answered with dry emphasis.

"I've been abroad so long," said the pretty girl, "I get puzzled. I do know about Arnold. There's his tablet in the chapel, you know. But who were Grant and Sherman, anyway? Didn't they figure in the last war, somehow?"

"Some people thought they did," said Cadet Kindred, with a face that had no expression whatever. And then, happily, the curtain drew up.

But how shall I give any idea of the performance to one who has never seen the like? Hits at officers, burlesques of unpopular orders, take-offs of the girls, with jibes and chaff at each other that would have made anybody but cadets just savage. Being cadets, they caught the fun, stood the jeers, and laughed—roared—till the Mess Hall rang.

With all this, songs—often very good; or a charming bit of "silent manual"; and scenes and situations sometimes true, always possible, and very droll. Then some mock machinery that one wondered how they ever found time to make; unheard-of problems and discoveries worked out in most ingenious ways, with just enough flavour of this or that instructor's style to "adorn the tale"—whether any moral came in or not.

Enter a donkey, carefully compounded of four plebs within—and I cannot guess what without. Ears and tail of the proper length, hide of the proper colour. He is slightly jerky and uncertain about his first coming in; but that is all in keeping for a descendant of the donkey "what wouldn't go"; and there is no hitch whatever in the performance. I believe one of the legs fainted as time went on; but the little beast (I mean the donkey), being skilfully pulled by the tail, beat a masterly retreat upon the other three.

A showman comes in with an armful of pictures, clever crayon sketches of nooks on Flirtation; of unhorsed cadets; of cadet dreams, and first-post realities. The showman pulls them away, one after the other, with brief words of comment, prefacing the last with a bit of glowing praise and liking—and lo! there stands before you the life-size "counterfeit" of the well-beloved Superintendent; cleverly enlarged by the cadet artist from a picture in some magazine. How the men cheer! They'll have a slap at him, like enough, among the jokes, but they love him none the less.

Then stalks out to view a stately papa, and a whole bevy of blooming daughters flutter in after him. They are dressed to kill, and come flirting and fanning, bridling and prinking, in a way to instruct some bona fide girls. The butterfly poise of these airy damsels is quite admirable, and could only have been won by long and careful study of the originals.

A dance of cuirassiers follows: but thereby hangs a tail—longer than the donkey's.

There had been for some time a highly unpopular dog at the Post; whether bearing his own demerits, or those of his master, history saith not. But some months before this winter night, and with his owner away, the dog had been mysteriously and marvellously painted by hands unknown.

Condign punishment was ready for the offenders. But the prefix to the old receipt for cooking a hare ("First catch it") is eminently in place at West Point,—and no one was caught. It was told, sub rosa, and with great delight, how word flashed over the wires: "The dog has been painted"; and how, when the owner came back, he met the chief culprit first of all, and said he was glad to see him. But all this had passed, and the dog was himself again.

Now, to-night, the four cuirassiers, booted and spurred and helmeted, went on with their dance, singing their song the while, when suddenly from behind the scenes slid in the dog—the paint stripes in order as they had been before, and the medallion on its side with the number of its master's regiment all complete. The carefully moulded little body gave hardly a hint of its pillow-case skin.

Midway across the stage the dog stood still. And instantly the cuirassiers paused in their dance, drew up around the dog and solemnly saluted, with sword points to the earth, as if the whole tactical department had been there in person. A wild dance followed, and the dog was then solemnly borne off on the points of the cuirassiers' weapons. But words cannot give the utter drollery of the thing, nor tell the perfect way in which it was carried out.

Then came more music, and the reading of the Howitzer.

A cadet Howitzer is a small, wholly original newspaper, full of everything in general; grinds, burlesques, sharp hints and comments, with bits of ridiculous fact as well; free as air, and sometimes as breezy. Verses to the cadet girl, verses at her, as well as touching the stringent professor, and the unpopular drill. Grievances painted in high colours, and jokes about cadets that are as merciless as they are many.

Scene: Riding hall.

Lieut. B.: "Mr. H., let go that horse's mane, sir!"

Cadet H. "I—I—I'm afraid he'll fall down if I do, Lieutenant."

"Why is T. like necessity?"

"Because he knows no Law."

"A first-class horse—the Spanish pony."

"Mabel, what became of that West Pointer you were engaged to?"

"O, he turned out to be a disappointer."

Scene: Section room.

Cadet L.: "Stucco is made by mixing gypsum with a large solution."

Instructor: "Large solution of what?"

Cadet: "The text does not state, sir. It just says it is mixed with a solution of size."

Scene: Section room.

Professor: "Now, gentlemen, the Indians made signs of natural and living objects their language. For instance, if they wished to represent the Little Horn River they drew a little horn; and if they wished to represent the Big Horn River, they drew a big horn."

Cadet C.: "Professor, how did they represent the Little Big Horn?"

Such, and such like, keen-worded trifles; a line, or a page long; often very bright, seldom complimentary, but always most impartial in their bestowal of hits.

Miranda: "I think Mr. W. is the most absent-minded cadet I know."

Jenny: "How so, dear?"

Miranda: "Why, last night he took the waltz position when we were just sitting still on the Hotel piazza!"

"For sale: We have on hand a large edition of C.'s 'Art of Dismounting'; the most complete work of its kind. Also K.'s treatise on 'The Tanbark; as I have found it.'"

So goes the Howitzer; and the audience are kindly told that at the end of the explosion the members of the medical department will pass in and out among the seats, administering "three pills, three times a day," to each of the wounded. "Warranted to cure."

I might give sharper-pointed details; but things that pass with the saying, in an evening frolic, might jar or rasp if written down in cold black and white. At the time (to their good sense be it spoken), no one laughs more readily than the sufferers themselves. And in spite of the local colour, which is confusing to a stranger, the jokes do very much explain themselves. As when the Irish schoolmaster, counting up his boys, suddenly demands: "Where, thin, is Tommy L.?" and a make-believe urchin cries out: "Plase, sor, he's puttin' on the shtamps on that last letter to Philadelphy!" the shout from the Corps makes it easy to guess what sort of hands will open the letter.

Now the curtain rises on Flirtation rocks and trees; and a well made-up damsel passes across the stage and out of sight, followed presently by a cadet captain, who hurries along in her steps, peering anxiously from side to side.

"She said she'd walk this way!" he murmurs perplexedly, as he too disappears.

The steps die out, and a third-class corporal comes on the scene. He also scans the seats and the bushes as he hastens by.

"Wonder if I'm late?" he questions. "She said she'd walk this way."

Again the silence settles down, broken this time by the less evenly assured tread of a pleb. "Not long from home, but very far!" is written all over him. Plainly he is following up a very unwonted gleam of pleasure.

"She said she'd walk this way!" he exclaims rather breathlessly as he dives in among the shadows.

The scenes, by the way, are remarkably well painted by those busy amateur hands, and vary greatly from year to year. "A street in old Vienna" was especially good; and some of the World's Fair incidents pertaining thereto, laughable enough.

But look at the clock upon the wall! and remember that this is Saturday night.

The last joke has shaken the house, the last song died away; the gay company pours out of the old doors, and the Hundredth Night is over.

I work with fury and delight, because I must get on, and I do get on. —Baron Bunsen.

Morning by morning now the shortening roll of days makes part of the cadet breakfast.

"Ninety-nine days to June!"

"Ninety-eight days to June!"

"Ninety-seven days to June!"

And all listen, and every heart takes a lighter bound. Ask any man, from now on, what is the news, and the odds are that you will get for answer:

"Ninety-six days to June!"—or forty-six, as the case may be. I had a note once from a cadet, dated:

"Barracks. Sixty-four days to June!"

But then he forgot to sign his name. That did not matter.

It is a strong pull, each man for himself, for the next three months; a sort of individual "tug of war." I think Magnus had never worked so hard in all the time he had been at West Point. Perhaps chemistry and wave motion had something to do with this, for our hero was no genius. Nothing but honest work carried him on. Higher thoughts than of rank lit up the musty pages, and made music for the dull company drills. Truly he was not unmindful of the charms of an engineer post for Cherry; but several born mathematicians stood between him and any hope of that. Yet all he could do, he would. The honour of the Christian name, no less than Cherry's sweet life, was in his trust, to dim or to brighten; and no man should ever adorn the tale with the name of Charlemagne Kindred, when saying that religion spoiled men, and should be left to women and children.

So Magnus had his own secret joy over every high mark. Never had he enjoyed "maxing it," as he did that winter, and never had he done it so often.

Some years ago, when the graduating class received their Bibles, and Dr. Wm. M. Taylor made the presentation address, he bade every man cull from his morning reading—no matter how brief it was—a sort of rose-in-the-buttonhole word for the day. Something like that our young cadet had learned to do. Nothing had hindered his daily reading since furlough, hard as it seemed to spare the minutes, some days, when work was unusually pressing. But perhaps that very pressure taught him to dive right into the meaning of what he read; catch up a message, and bear it away. Now a promise, now a precept, now a prayer; a breath of joyous hope, a gleam of unearthly glory. That real rose-in-the-buttonhole which dress coats and blouses may never wear, would have drooped in the drill, fainted in the section room, and been lost in the tan bark. But it seemed to Magnus as if his invisible blooms grew only fairer as the day went on. The fragrance was royal, as it came and went in such variety.

"Hopeth all things, endureth all things."—

"Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord."—

"Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as unto the Lord, and not unto men."—

"Nevertheless, the Lord stood by me."—

Nobody knew all this; few people read the signs; though they did note the high marks, and could say that "Kindred" (in his own way) was the gayest man in barracks. But I fear they deemed him a crank, all the same. Rig would look up at the clatter caused by "Analytical Mechanics," as it struck the corner of the room; and then see Magnus with an odd smile on his face make a rush for the obnoxious volume, and plunge into it again with all his might. "Studying like mad," as his easy-going comrade phrased it; but Magnus only called it "heartily."

Or in the section room, with his wits gone a wool gathering, and his ideas in May-day confusion; every thought he had, tangled up with those last letters from home; desperately tempted to "bugle it," and let some other man bear the brunt; then the sweet "royal law" he was wearing that day gave its counsel, and braced him at once to do the right thing. He would answer, ready or unready, when his turn came. No man stumbled or doubted the truth of religion, because of any section-room meanness or selfishness on the part of Charlemagne Kindred.

And so an unwelcome order, from perhaps a disagreeable man, turned round in the wind and came first (for him) as the Lord's command. "Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves." You will easily guess that Cadet Kindred remained high in discipline.

And later on, first in studies also? No, by no means. Willet's Point never showed its head on the horizon; the leaders in the class were not men to be dislodged. And some studies came hard. Then (and now perhaps it is well I am far away from some of my friends) Cadet Kindred would have nothing to do with "ponies." Those seductive little frauds looked just as enticing, maybe, to him as to other men; but common sense and loyalty made him let them alone.

"Common sense—for what am I here for," he answered Rig one day, "but to tread the paths of learning? And that does not mean going pony-back."

"You can sort of line out the ground, you know," Rig said; "and then wear out your shoes all you want to at San Carlos."

San Carlos! What visions came with the name. For a moment Rig's face showed through a golden haze.

"But besides," Magnus went on, bringing his thoughts back, "it's not doing things 'heartily.' The Lord gave me this appointment to make just the most out of it I could. I cannot look up to Him from a 'pony,' and say I have learned my lesson."

"But the Bible says, He always helps those that help themselves," remarked Rig.

"No, it doesn't; not the first word. You have borrowed some man's 'pony' for that. It says 'Fear not, for I will help thee,'—" and Magnus plunged into his lesson again. The Divine strength that is trusted in, is a wonderful power; and Cadet Kindred pushed on and pushed up, every now and then took some other man's scalp, and never lost his own.

And he found the Sunday rest a great thing. Broken in upon, indeed, by a guard-mounting and parade; by police calls, inspection, and now and then guard duty; but between whiles full of quiet time to think.

It was such a pleasure to pile up the study books Saturday night, and leave the dark mass untouched till Monday morning. It took faith—a good deal—in some crises of work, but it paid well. The free time was so good. Not hours snatched unlawfully, but taken of right, according to that most wise and blessed law of the Lord: "In it thou shalt not do any work."

In fine weather Magnus kept himself much out of doors, letting the dust of the week clear all away from eyes and heart and brain, till the balance of things, so often confused in the weekday rush, swung steady and true once more.

"I don't see how you do it, Kin," said Randolph one day. "Do you run a light after taps?"

"Never," said Magnus. "I study all I can Saturday, and as early as I can Monday morning."

"Always ready for eight o'clock?"

"I will not say the details are always just as clear as they were on Saturday, but then my head is so much clearer. I get along, somehow."

"Well, I should say you did!" commented Rig. "Maxing it every blessed day last week."

One of the mild amusements of this spring for Magnus was watching Rig. For Mr. McLean had fallen in love. Not deeply, for that implies certain other depths—or hopelessly, for there was every likelihood that he would get out again all safe; but unmanageably. Unutterably, Rig called it, and Magnus unendurably.

So the young man mooned over photographs, sported (in his room) an end of pink riband; tumbled his hair all he could, and went down in everything.

"I say, Rig!" Magnus admonished him one night, "keep out of the 'immortals,' whatever else you do."

"I cannot do much of anything," Rig answered mournfully.

"Well, I'd try, if I died in the effort," said Magnus. "Bone chevrons; your charmer has a quick eye for them."

"She has a quick eye for everything."

"Wearing bell buttons." But Rig did not heed him.

"Confess, Kin, you never saw such eyes."

"Only about five hundred and forty times, when I used to go cat-fishing. Ever notice catfish eyes, Rig?"

"They're so blue!" said Cadet McLean. "So deeply, darkly——"

"If you don't shut up," Magnus shouted at him, "I'll try if I can't shake some sense into you. Quit sighing like a furnace. You nearly blew the gas out."

"Of course I can't expect you to understand," said Rig. "You live only in books, far away from all this sort of thing."

"I hope so, this sort," said Magnus.

"You see, my heart is larger than my head," said Mr. McLean. "Always was."

But now Magnus threw down his book, and pitched into his friend very literally; pounding him, hustling him, getting him into a real fisticuff fight to protect himself.

"Feel better, don't you?" said Mr. Kindred, when the two faced each other, flushed and panting. "Balance of power restored?"

"I don't know how I feel!" said McLean. "I've lost all my ideas."

"Well, don't advertise them at any high figure," said Magnus.

"Sit down and study, like a reasonable being. If I were a woman, I wouldn't look at a man who couldn't hold his head up when my back was turned."

"It is quite impossible for me to look at a book," said Rig.

"Very good; sit still and sigh, and I'll write your explanation."

"To whom? What about?" Rig sat up now and gazed at him.

"To the Prof. To-morrow. As follows:

"'Sir: I have the honour to state that I have fallen into a six-inch mud puddle, and cannot get out in time for recitation. So wave motion must wait.'"

"Stuff!" McLean said rather angrily.

"Stuff, and nothing but stuff. Rig, when you get fired in June, your dear devoted will not turn her head to see which way you go to take the train. Not much!" said Magnus, relieving his feelings with a bit of slang, and then diving into his own problems for the next day. And Rig could get neither word nor look more that night. But whatever traditions may say, unlimited chocolate creams do not help a man with his tactics; nor does plum cake after taps provide him a clear head for next day's wave motion.

"You could make better marks, Mr. McLean," said the Superintendent one day, meeting Rig. "Why don't you, sir?"

And if Rig had been openly honest, he would have answered:

"Love—and mince pie, sir."

Magnus scolded his friend, fought him, jeered him; then tried other measures.

The days were softening and lengthening, with grass and flowers on the jump. Visitors were arriving in numbers; and for Magnus had come, from away across the continent, a bunch of snowdrops in Cherry's last letter. Somehow his own great happiness made the young cadet anxious for his friend.

"Look here, Trent," he said one day to another classmate, "can't you pitch in and spoon that Curry girl? Rig will be ruined."

"Spoon her yourself."

"Haven't time. One more will make no difference to you."

"Thanks. Rig will put a bullet in my head, if he suspects."

"Well, your brain always did need fresh air," said Magnus, "so that will fit. Why, to-day, in the section room, Hammer asked him the colour of old red sandstone,—and Rig answered:

"'Blue, Lieutenant.'"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Trent. "But isn't this rather a queer business to be talked up by our high and mighty magnate of the tender conscience? The man who keels over at the mere sight of a 'pony.'"

"Pshaw! if it was some girls," said Magnus. "But it will make no difference to her either. You've both worn your hearts out—supposing you ever had any."

"Thanks—awfully! And you think Miss Curry might be induced to hand over 'those fossil remains that she terms her affections' to me?"

"To your temporary care. You wear chevrons," said Magnus. "And your affections are as fossilised as hers, allowing for the argument's sake that such things ever existed. Just stroll up on the other side, when Rig's around. She'll be delighted. And as neither of you could possibly fall in love with anybody, there'll be nobody hurt."

"Except Rig."

"Rig!" Magnus said impatiently. "Rig ought to be cut in little pieces and sewed up some other way."

"Kin," said Mr. Trent, striking an easy attitude across the back of a chair, "you amuse me."

"Well, clear out and amuse yourself," said Magnus. "I've got a previous with this old book. And if Catkins finds you here, you'll be skinned for all he is worth."

Which warning Mr. Trent saw fit to heed.

But whoever succeeded in driving the moth away from the candle? Magnus was fain to content himself with remembering that on most singed human moths, wings grow anew very fast.

Miss Curry welcomed Mr. Trent's advances with a gracious smile, but she by no means let go her hold of Rig; and Rig had perfectly lost his head. The girl might flout him five times a day, and these cool applications did but heighten the fever.

From the middle of April on, there was pretty steady "cadet weather." Whatever the dawn may threaten, it always clears off in time for drill, except on Saturdays, when the order is reversed, and the rain sets in with double force just as the hours of freedom begin.

Rain did not hinder some men. Magnus rather enjoyed wrapping himself in his long grey coat and stalking off into the gloom and the fog. The hills were so lovely in their misty caps, the air so laden with spring sweets: spice bush and trillium, black birch and dogwood and azalia, and all the leaf buds just bursting their varnished sheath. How fragrant the pines were! and the cedars and hemlocks: how dainty the small clouds of wayfaring birds just come to spend the night. And in another month his birds of passage would be here, and the air full of their voices. Sometimes when Magnus thought of it, the excitement half made him wild; and he would set off for a sharp run up the hill, or a one-sided leap-frog among the rocks. Then he would throw himself down on the moss and hold his head and think. Or he took a squirrel track to the top of a tall tree and shouted (not too loud) and waved his cap to the passing trains, and saluted the old flag.

The Point filled up fast with candidates; and as Magnus looked at them, he did not much wonder at the glances which had once been cast on him. He found a slight touch of contempt the easiest thing in the world to creep in. A host of these sombre drones seeking something to do, a swarm of gay butterflies demanding only honey; what a motley crowd it made.

Even Magnus was drawn in by the honey-seekers; and took Miss Freak a walk after trailing arbutus, because she asked him so sweetly; and indeed himself asked some other girls to go here or there. And, of course, being a cadet, he said pretty things and made himself agreeable, though never beyond certain limits (N. B. I do not mean cadet limits, this time). As Miss Freak said, with her charming frankness:

"He never gives you anything to think of at night, when you get your back hair down."

But in spite of that small drawback, Mr. Kindred had his full share of what Mr. Clinker facetiously termed "drilling the Light Battery."

Some very pleasant and sensible girls came to the Point that spring; and in the great longing for sweeter tones than those of the average cadet, Magnus was ready enough to make acquaintance and take walks. And the girl generally declared: "It has been most delightful." Only when one gauzy creature looked up at him and said:

"Isn't it strange? You know I've always wanted to live at an army post—but I'm not engaged yet,"—then Cadet Kindred grew silent, and as soon as possible resigned in favour of Mr. Clinker.

So the hope-gilded days flew on: but with the end of May came a check.

Magnus got back from a long walk, to find two letters on his table. I know it is the correct thing for hero and heroine to "tear open" their letters, but Magnus cut his as carefully as if the very envelope might hold its quota of words.

"Dear Magnus," so the clear handwriting began, "I am afraid—no, I suppose I hope—that you will be very sorry. For I cannot go East with Mrs. Kindred and the girls."

And here, truth compels me to say, Cadet Kindred threw down the letter, and stamped about the room in a small tempest of displeasure.

"What's up?" queried Rig, who had noted the postmark. "Hasn't gone back on you, has she?"

For which harmless suggestion, Magnus promptly tumbled the offender out of his chair, and left him to pick himself up.

"I say! Steady on that, you know," commented Mr. McLean. "Girls are plenty; but where will you find a friend like me?"

"That was a beastly insinuation!" said Magnus in hot wrath.

"Was it? Girls are all alike, old boy." And Rig heaved a sigh.

"They're not! And this isn't what you mean by a girl. It's a—a——"

"An angel, perhaps," said Rig. "Then allow me to inquire what business you have to be rattled, with anything an angel sees fit to do."

"Rig," said Magnus seriously, pausing before him, "do you know whereabouts we are in barracks?"

"Second floor, first div.," Rig answered.

"Well, you can have a chance to measure the breadth of the window, and the depth to the ground, just as soon as you want it."

"Thanks, I'm sure," said Mr. McLean. "At this moment, I am hard at work on the problem of your temper, minus your common sense. What does the letter say?"

"Don't know yet," said Magnus. "I've only read three lines."

Rig looked at him, and then gathering up his own books, he carried them over to the cold steam pipes, laid them down, and perched himself at one end.

"You must excuse me," he said; "you are so plainly insane, that a due regard to my personal safety brings about this temporary coolness. 'Distance lends enchantment'—but you are more irresistible near by."

Magnus flung back into his chair again, with a half groan, and took up the letter. If it had been release from quarters he would have gone to Fort Put for the reading.

"Cannot come East!" he muttered to himself. "What's the use of reading on? She will not—and that's just where it is." And yet he read.

"Papa is not strong this spring; not at all able for the journey; and I cannot leave him alone. He says 'Go'—but I cannot, Magnus. Not this year." ("Bless her for that!") Magnus interlined. "But the girls are to see everything, and remember everything, and tell it all to me; and maybe when you graduate we can all be there."

"I think I will not write any more to-day, because I cannot talk of anything but this; and it is not best to say too much. But we are fighting in the same field, Magnus, even if we are out of sight of each other, and we get our orders from the same King. How I have thought over and over, the seeing you at parade! I felt sure I could always pick you out from all the three hundred. Good-bye.—Your Cherry."

It was well for Magnus that he had little time to brood over his disappointment. June was near at hand, some few "planks" of the Board of Visitors already arriving, and some last study to be done.

"You bone straight on through the year," Randolph said to him one day. "Why, in life, man, don't you let up, now and then?"

"I'm after another bone," Magnus answered him. But he did not say that when the "standing" roll came to the hand he loved best, her eyes must find the name of Charlemagne Kindred as high as it could possibly be.

"Just as high as I can put it," he told himself, with a fresh rush at everything. For faith does not spoil a man, nor holy living mar his scholarship.

So Magnus studied, and played tennis, and ran races; did exploits on the poles and ropes, and threw everybody who dared wrestle with him; won his marks, kept his chevrons, and did not lose his popularity.

But disappointments are said to hunt in couples. The next week after Cherry's letter of bad news, came one from Mrs. Kindred, with addition to the same. For she, too, must stay at home.

"Cherry wants my help in every way," wrote the mother. "I must stay with her. And it is really better, dear, on all accounts. For if I live till next June, I must go then to see you graduate,—and two such journeys cost."

Magnus sat back in great gloom, and declared that June was "fizzling out."

"I suppose the next word will be that Viola and Rose have some sort of a previous at the North Pole," he said.

But no such climax followed. The girls wrote that they were to leave home on such a day, in charge of the wife of that very Congressman who had given Magnus his appointment. A true woman of the world in some things, but kindly, and not wanting in sense and tact. People said she liked uniforms herself, and was glad of a train of girls because it drew on a train of cadets. But neither thing was so very exceptional and unheard of that people needed to be hard on her. And she chose her girls well; always, if she could, some hid-away damsel whose one chance of getting to the Point this might be. And now, when the boy owed his place to her husband's good offices, it was her delight to take his sisters. The one stipulation was that she should have her own way about the bills.

"I must have a clear mind," she said, "and stop when I choose, and where I choose, or the trip won't be a speck of good. It's nobody's business how I manage my affairs, and you chits needn't strike in to be the first."

So in this lady's ample care Rose and Violet made the long journey, and enjoyed every scrap of it. The meals in the dining car, and (I'm afraid) the bunks in the so-called sleeper; even the small delays, for then they could look out to better advantage; and Mrs. Congressman voted them the two best girls she had ever taken anywhere. "Always ready for breakfast," she said, "and always willing to wait. It was as good as music to hear them laugh when we had to switch off on the side track, or when folks jammed past them to dinner; it sweetened the whole car; curled everybody's feathers...."

It was true, and I think would have been, even on a journey not into "Fairyland," though of course that helped. But the two were very quiet in their eager looking; the laugh and the exclamation were low-toned and well-bred. They asked sensible questions, and not too many even of them. Only when they got talking of Magnus, then indeed, the words came, with such sparkles and dimples and exultation, that Mrs. Congressman began to think her husband had done a bright thing for the country, when he gave that young soldier his place. But no one else in the car found out that they had a brother at West Point, and were on their way to see him; nor that their escort was the wife of an Hon. M. C.; such cheap fame our two girls had not learned to seek.

And thus it was a delightful little party that after some hours of rest, and a late breakfast, bestowed themselves in a palace car of the 11.30 train, and went swaying and swinging up the river.

People may say they have seen the Hudson, but never before as it is to-day, or as it will be to-morrow. The tide, the wind, the time of year, the temperature, the magnetic conditions, join hands in an endless chain of new effects. With a blue sky it is one thing, and will change its complexion on the instant, with the shadow of a passing cloud. To-day, in a frolic of white caps racing down before the north wind, and to-morrow rolling up in dull leaden surges, with a southern Banshee at its back. Now lapping the shore with sweetest whispers, now decked with a fringe of winter ice. Then frozen over from shore to shore, fitting in among the hills like an accurately cut sheet of white paper. But living, even then, with mysterious cracks and reports, with little plashes, where the tide breaks out along the edge.

It was May yet, with the lilac storm just past, and the river in full flood, tossed and heaving from the strain of the east wind. The green of the hills—the endless shades of the young leafage—seemed almost to change while you looked. The girls grew too breathless to talk even about Magnus, and to the hackneyed eyes of Mrs. Congressman, there was positive refreshment in the way those two arm-chairs whirled on their pivots, for last glimpses and new effects.

"My dear girls, I wish my neck had the untirable quality of yours," she said.

"Tired—how could one be tired?" said Violet. "Oh, Rose! just see that vessel with her sails swung out each side. That must be what Cooper means by 'wing and wing.'"

"Yes, the wind is stirring up," said Mrs. Congressman; "I'm sure I wish it would;" and she plied her fan.

"Let me fan you!" Rose cried, turning her chair away from the entrancing view.

"No, no! Look out and see all you can. I may be an old goose, but I know a little."

"You are just as kind as you can be, Mrs. Ironwood," said Rose gratefully.

"But allow me to remark, young ladies," said their friend, looking amused, "that at West Point there are also some things, and people, to look at. So don't get your necks stiff. You must not gaze in one direction all the time, there."

"Yes, ma'am. O, Violet, did you hear? The next stop is Garrisons!" And the two girls took hold of hands, as if to keep each other still.

"Yes, we're fairly in the Highlands now," said Mrs. Congressman, tying her bonnet strings. "Well, children, I'm glad you're so happy, and it's a real pleasure to have you along. Some girls are just a nuisance at West Point."

"Oh, I hope we shall not be a nuisance," Violet said, but looking out all the while.

"I'm afraid we shall make a great many mistakes," said Rose, studying the rocky green Dunderberg with her heart in her eyes. "You know we have just lived at home. Couldn't you tell us now, before we get there, how to do?"

"Bridges for rivers you'll not have to cross," quoth Mrs. Congressman, who had imbibed a little of her husband's manner, which now and then came out. "No use, child; you never do what you think you will. The chief thing at West Point, as everywhere, is to be a lady as much as a girl, and that you both are, always."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" Rose said warmly.

"There is one other thing," Mrs. Congressman went on, "that I might just remark. No manner of use, but it'll not do any harm. It is only, girls, that you must never believe anything cadets tell you."

This brought both chairs round on a sharp pirouette.

"Not anything!"

"But, you do not mean Magnus."

"Oh, Magnus is all the knights of the round table rolled into one; of course he takes in truth among his smaller virtues. The rest do not."

"Why, I thought Magnus said truth was one of the very first things there!" said Rose.

"Official truth. No cadet is allowed to fib officially. So they take it out socially."

The speaker kept a perfectly grave face, and the two girls looked aghast, felt so, all through the tunnel. But as they ran out in sight of Fort Montgomery and the tall outlines that rose up beyond, cadets (except Magnus) sunk down into very sublunary things.

"Oh, well, Magnus isn't so," Rose said contentedly.

"And we are not likely to see much of other cadets," Violet said, pressing close to her window.

Mrs. Congressman watched them for a minute; the graceful heads, the fair, well-bred faces; but then she seemed to find something very amusing out of her own window, for she smiled to herself till they reached Garrisons. There might be several cadets, she thought, who would have a word to say to that statement.

If Magnus had scanned the way over and up, because there was nobody there, for him, with what a difference the two young sisters watched every point where possibly he might be. Silently they followed their leader into the old omnibus, and noted every stone, stick, and leaf, that decked the road up the hill.

Passing the Mess Hall came a new sensation; for the day was so warm that windows and doors stood wide open, and there was not only the usual tumult of voices, but also a tangle of heads, arms, and grey cloth in view from the omnibus.

"The boys are at dinner," said Mrs. Ironwood.

"Oh, and is Magnus there, too?" cried the girls.

"Unless he's in the hospital."

"In the hospital!"

"He ought to be, if he's not eating his dinner. Might have sprained his ankle, dismounting too fast. Might have swallowed too much of Miss Somebody's cake."

But both these ideas were summarily dismissed.

"He is in there, of course," Rose said, her eyes full, and her heart wafting a blessing to the unseen brother; and with one consent the girls kissed their hands to the old grey building.

"Now, children," said Mrs. Congressman as they jolted on, "I must tell you one thing. This is all very well, tucked away in the 'bus with me; but never do you kiss hands to anybody at West Point, under other circumstances. There are always cadets lurking round in the bushes, and they'll think you mean them."

How the girls laughed! Whether because they had just been so near Magnus, or at this image of an ambush of other cadets, or the faint spice of danger in the air, or the general culmination; but even the quiet Rose came down from her dignity, and the omnibus rattled up to the hotel with a chorus of fun inside.

The needs of life are helpful and calming. Washing the dust off quiets one down, and prosaic dinner brings back one's sober senses. It was an extremely demure pair of girls that followed Mrs. Congressman into the dining-room, and gave earnest heed while she ordered dinner, surveyed the guests, scolded the waiter, and praised the soup.

"You must eat, girls," she said. "Build yourselves up for what's before you. I suppose this is the last quiet minute we shall have to ourselves till we go away."

"What is to happen to us?" said Violet merrily.

"Walks," said Mrs. Ironwood. "And talks. And stands. I hope you've both brought plenty of shoes."

"I noticed the stones, as we came along," said Rose.

"Stones! It's the soft going that tells on the shoes, child. I brought Mary Gates here one rainy spring, and she finished her overshoes in a week, and I had to send her home."

"In a week! Did she dance instead of walking?"

"Danced attendance," said Mrs. Congressman. "I didn't mean to pun, girls, but that was the fact. Now I should take you straight off to the guard-house to see Magnus——"

"The guard-house?"

"The visitors' room, there, silly! but work begins at two o'clock, and we shouldn't find him. So I'll go and get a snooze, and you'd best do the same."

"We could not possibly sleep," said Violet. "We'll sit out on the piazza and look."

"It's a fine view, whichever way," said Mrs. Ironwood; "but the Land of Nod is more to my mind just now. Sit out here, then, or do what you like, only don't go off hotel limits. There's no town crier here. And call me at a quarter past three. And girls"—she put her head inside the door again—"whatever you do, don't go down and stand at the hotel fence."

The girls listened to the retreating footsteps, but then they looked at each other and laughed.

"West Point must be an odd place," said Rose.

"And she is the oddest woman! What ails the hotel fence, any more than all other fences?" said Violet. "It looks pretty strong."

However, they obeyed orders, and wandering about a little, as all doors stood open, came presently out upon the north piazza and the north view.

I do not know when Mrs. Congressman would have been roused from her nap, if the clock on the old tower had not told its tale of the passage of time. But when three sonorous notes had sounded, after that the girls kept close watch, for soon Magnus would be but a half hour away.

They passed round to the west side, and sat watching the hills and the plain and the clock, by turns; and it wanted two minutes of the quarter when they went in. And Mrs. Ironwood was prompt. She waked up at once, donned a fresh gown and an astonishing bonnet; looked her girls over critically, to make sure their simple preparations had come out all right, then sailed away down the steps and across the plain, with her pretty convoy close following.

Late spring everywhere, blue sky and hot sun; a ravishing green carpet, and just a stir of such air as breathes nowhere but in the Highlands. Gaily dressed women spotted the green, dark-blue officers came and went; the bugler at the sallyport handled and toned his bugle.

Straight through the sallyport the Western dame led her two girls, passing grey coats on the way across the area, and meeting others at the guard-house; nodding to one, hailing another, but giving no introductions; until after making known her wishes to the magnificent officer of the day, she turned to her girls, and presented Cadet-Captain Trueman. Then panted up the narrow staircase to the visitors' room, which was hot, and not magnificent.

Mrs. Ironwood and her fan at once absorbed the window, the two girls stood shyly behind her; and back and forth before their eyes went the slim grey figures in the area. Some who knew Mrs. Ironwood and doffed their caps to her gave just a swift second glance at the two new faces. For a cadet never stares, or does it so surreptitiously from under his visor that nobody knows.

But the minutes seemed long. Mrs. Ironwood's fan plied back and forth, the girls stood watching.

"What makes them all look just alike?" said Violet. "I should say that man has been across six times already." Mrs. Ironwood laughed.

"Maybe he has," she said. "You'll bring the chaos to order in a day or two. Look very monotonous, don't they? I suppose you'll not even know Magnus when he comes."

But a little cry from both the girls answered that. Another grey figure came hurrying across the open space, swung his cap high in air beneath the window, and came tearing up the stairs.

After the first words, Mrs. Ironwood went back to her seat, and left them to themselves, interviewing at more length some of her friends below; but then she made a move.

"We must get out of here," she said. "There come more bonnets, and there'll be more cadets, and we shan't have standing room."

"When the bugle blows," said Magnus. "I can't leave here till four o'clock. But it's close on that now."

"And then we can have you all the rest of the afternoon," said Violet.

"No, little peach blossom, you cannot. There's a review on hand. I'll take you down to the seats. There it goes—" And the sweet four o'clock call rang out in front of barracks, repeated then at different points, and answered by soft echoes from the hill.

The little party made their way out, and down among the old trees by the officers' row, where already the seats were filling up. But Magnus found them a good place, and himself stood in front; mounting guard over his treasures with a joy and pride it was pleasant to see. He quite ignored the suggestive looks that came from other men in grey. Just now, he wanted his sisters all to himself. And the way they gazed at him could not be told.

To see how he knew by instinct when an officer came by; instantly whirling around to salute, to note how very often that cap came off to some embodiment of fashion and finery, was a great study. For Magnus was on tiptoe, and put in all the flourishes the law allowed. Only at the sound of the first drum did his exalted state come down.

"That drummer ought to be hung at the sallyport," he said.

"But it is all so pretty," said Rose. "And so in keeping, Magnus."

"You do not know drums," he said. "That call means: 'Charlemagne Kindred—and every other cadet out for a breath of fresh air—walk straight off to barracks.'"

"Does it?" said Violet. "Then why don't you go? We'll walk over with you."

"Sit still! Why don't I go?" and Mr. Kindred gave fresh utterance to his disdain.

"Now it sounds again," said Rose. "Is that a second invitation to 'walk'?"

"No; this one says: 'Magnus Kindred—and every other man who is enjoying himself—run!'"

"O, then, do go, dear!" pleaded the girls. "O, Magnus! do not be late. See, those men are running."

But Magnus gave no sort of heed. He bowed to Miss Newcomb, looked after the speeding grey coats, and remarked calmly:

"Let them run. They want practice." But when the next call sounded, Magnus turned.

"That spells," he said: "'Magnus Kindred—and every other poor fellow who doesn't mean to be skinned—scamper!'" and scamper he certainly did. The two girls watched him, breathless and anxious.

"There are three ladies right in his way," said Violet. "Oh, I hope they'll not stop him!"

But no, indeed; a cadet dodging a "late" is not so easily stopped. Magnus knew them, took off his cap to them, spoke some words of greeting, but never stayed his pace; and his sisters had the pleasure of seeing him dive in through the sallyport before the drum said another word. Then they looked at each other and laughed.

"Such a boy!" said Rose.

"But how he did run," said Violet. Then they both were silent with intensest interest. For the old grey barracks presently took to itself the well-known likeness of a beehive in swarming time, and ignorant eyes could as little tell what was going on as the uninitiated can guess that the bees are searching for their queen. Hanging round the doorways, clustering in front, with new forms all the time pouring out, until, like the tin pan of the farmer's wife, that mysterious drum brought order, and they settled down in a long, long line upon the sidewalk.

Just at this point, with all the dangerous element in safe bonds, Mrs. Ironwood left her girls for a while and went for a chat on one of the hospitable porches behind her. Several other people also moved away, for a walk or a talk; and the vacant seats were taken by a handful of girls just come on the ground, and who, noting the new faces, were now in the keen pursuit of knowledge.

At first, however, they seemed more eager to give it, talking fast and loud, and sometimes across the two young strangers who were watching every movement on the plain. But when the march down from barracks ended in another motionless line upon the green, and each girl began to pick out her friends and favourites, despite the confusing chin-straps, then it was impossible not to listen.

"Look at Mr. True," said one; "he's a mere mathematical line."

"He'd be adorable, if he wasn't such a poke," said another.

"I'd give more to see that man brought to terms!"

"What terms?"

"Unconditional surrender. Down on his knees."

"Mr. Randolph is just behind him," said the first. "And Mr. Crane is fourth from the end in B Company."

"Which is Mr. Kindred?" said Rose, turning to her.

"Second man with the cross-belt. Do you know him?" said the young lady, much surprised.

"I have met him several times."

"Well, anybody who knows Magnus Kindred after meeting him 'several times,' may go up head," said Miss Saucy.

"Is he a poke, too?" asked Violet, with a grave face.

"No, he's too wicked for that," said Miss Cray.

"Wicked?" said little Miss Wren. "Why, he's one in discipline all the time."

"Well, he'd better be two, and have a few grains of civility," said Miss Cray. "Absolutely he left me all standing in the middle of the plain yesterday, just because that ridiculous drum chose to beat!"

"But that was a very good way to be left," said Rose merrily. "Perhaps if you had been all falling, he would have stayed."

"Fine idea to work up!" said another girl, laughing, but Miss Cray tossed her head.

"Nobody cared, either way," she said. "How do you know what 'perhaps' he would have done?"

"Why, we are both his sisters," said Violet. And for once in her life Miss Cray was taken aback.

"Fancy it!" she said. "Where are you staying?"

"At the hotel."

"We are at Cranston's. Who is your chaperon?"

"Mrs. Ironwood."

Which was better care than Miss Cray herself could boast, and so the force of circumstances dealt another blow.

"Well, don't serve me out too large a slice of humble pie," she said. "I'm awfully fond of Mr. Kindred, myself. The trouble is, he's not so awfully fond of me. And wounded hearts, you know!"

"If Mr. McLean were here, he'd say: 'Steady!'" remarked Miss Wren. "Do you know Mr. McLean, too?" she said, turning to Violet.

"Yes."

"Met him 'several times'?"

"Yes."

"But you must come from the West?"

"There are quite a number of people out there," said Violet.

"And one can visit, even on a prairie," said Miss Cray politely. "But it seems so odd."

Perhaps for a freer discussion of the oddity of things, that party moved away, and Mrs. Ironwood came back to her charge. But social duties still claimed her to such a degree that she hardly looked at the review, and not at all at the girls, for a good while. Then in some moment of silence, a soft, long-drawn breath made her turn her head.

The cadets were just passing, double-timing round the square, and the good lady saw that her two girls had hold of hands, and that the eyes of both were full. What about? Only for one particular dress coat with a white cross-belt, one particular pair of shoes that darted past; the owner whereof was so far from feeling himself a hero that he was just pronouncing under breath the whole review a mean contrivance to keep men out in the sun. Ah, young brothers! have you any faint vision of what your sisters see in you?

"Pull up your wraps, girls," said Mrs. Congressman. "It turns cool here, the minute the sun drops behind the hill. And I suppose wild horses wouldn't get you away before parade. Well, they'll have dealings with that man."

The end of the battalion was just passing, one single cadet officer bringing up the rear; and this man's sash had come untied. And as he darted on, one long red streamer trailed gracefully behind him; too heavy to float, unless with more wind astir.

The girls were in fits of merriment; only our two girls looked grave.

"Just think!" whispered Rose; "it might have been Magnus."

"But why doesn't he stop and tie it up?" said Violet.

"Stop and tie it up?" said Mrs. Congressman, who caught the words. "Why, if his head was off, he couldn't stop to put it on. Not in a review."

Between review and parade there was a charming bit of free time when Magnus came down to see his sisters. Miss Cray and her party took for granted he was coming also to see them, and there was some bridling and handling of sugar-plum boxes. And it was quite a shock, when Magnus, after bowing to them, turned away, and found himself a seat between "those two Western girls," whom he could see any time.

Sweet brief minutes; I wonder if unlimited free hours can ever have the subtle charm that used to hang over the now-and-then release from quarters?

Mr. Starr came up to claim acquaintance, and presently coaxed Rose away to introduce her to the sidewalk, as he said; Cadet-Captain Trueman appeared, preferring the same claim, though of so much later date. And Miss Cray looked on.

As for my two girls, they were more than content; Violet finding the grave, dark-browed Mr. True a very interesting person indeed; and Rose so taken up with Mr. Starr's sallies of fun and comment, that she missed all the admiring glances bestowed upon her own sweet eyes and laughing mouth. The first drum came all too soon.

Starr went on to just the point where they had turned before, came slowly back and led Rose to her seat; then standing before her and going on with his talk. And Miss Cray listened.

"Mr. Trueman," she said presently, putting in her word, "we had a wager about you last night."

"About me? That certainly speaks you all ladies of much leisure."

"Now, don't begin to preach," said Miss Freak. "Be good for once, and tell us."

"And what, if you please?"

"The point was this," said Miss Saucy. "Kate said that before you will go down on your knees to a woman, you must have a cushion a mile high. The rest of us thought that perhaps a yard might do."

"Pardon me!" said Mr. Trueman, with some energy; "if ever I kneel to a woman, I shall want no cushion!"

And the tall cadet captain bowed gravely to Violet, touched his cap to the others, and walked away.

A quick clearance of grey coats from about the seats followed. Over by the innocent-looking reveille gun stood two soldiers in blue, at the foot of the flagstaff were two more. The flag showed off its beauties, lifting, falling, floating away in circling folds upon the fitful air; then drooping, a mere line of colour against the staff. Then came a series of wild yells from the front of barracks, answering the roll-call, and then parade.

In spite of the dignitaries who generally "assist" at a review, adding all that position or plumage can give, they never get off anything at West Point that is quite so good as an old-time dress parade. I use my adjective wittingly, for—no disrespect to the new tactics, they hurt the effect. To-night everything was perfect, even the music. The band struck up "Money Musk," or some other time-honoured quick-step, known in those happy days before "Boulanger" was heard of; the grey files came down the green in absolute order, and drew up in a long, unbroken, glancing line, before the seats.

The hills across the river were in a glory of sunshine, the higher heads that sentinel the north entrance to the Highlands showed sunlight and shadow, too. The river went silently along, you could just hear the paddles of the Mary Powell, as she speeded round Gee's Point on her northward course. All this, while the adjutant dressed the line, and brought it to parade rest.

"Sound off!"

It matters little what they played then, for as the drum major raised his baton and struck his attitude, and the throng of bandsmen went nimbly after him, our two Western girls were absolutely and wholly bewitched. To see the black plumes slanting off as one before the breeze, with the stir of a red sash here and there, and the glinting of breast-plates and bayonets and bell buttons in that long moveless line. Then to behold the band of musicians getting tangled up in a maze at the turn, but coming out all right, and playing for dear life through it all,—they were so wrapped and lost, no wonder the gun made them jump.

Then the wonder of the manual, to unwonted eyes; the comical different voices in which the sergeants reported, with hand on heart (supposedly), and the amused guesses as to how in Company D there should be two privates absent and unaccounted for. Even the jumble of the orders was delightful.

"Headquarters Military Academy, West Point, N. Y., May 10, 18—" so much was generally plain. As also "Special Order. No. forty three-e-e!" But whether it gave Cadet Nameless leave of absence for two weeks, or said he was to be shot in two days, only the nature of the case made clear. To their ears, it might as well have been the one as the other.

The reading ends, the adjutant tucks the folded paper into the breast of his dress coat, comes neatly round on one heel, and waves his sword to the officer in charge.

"Sir, the orders are published."

"Dismiss the parade, sir!"

Another skilful pirouette, and the adjutant faces the line and sheathes his sword.

"Parade dismissed!"

The swords of all the cadet officers rattle down into the scabbard, the adjutant steps loftily back to his old place by the line.

"Forward! Guide centre! March!"

And with another gay burst of music, the cadet officers come forward, salute the officer in charge, and disperse (in these days draw up behind him); the long, grey line breaks into companies, the music changes its measure, and away they all go to barracks, to the sweet strains of "Pop Goes the Weasel!" Every right arm swings just so, every black shoe sole displays its regulation state, in most regulation order. But how many furtive blessings brushed the head of Cadet Kindred as he went by, that obtuse young fellow never guessed.

Tea at the hotel, after all this, was prosaic enough, but doubtless the most soaring bird comes down to rest, and finds the lower lands quite bearable, with further flight in prospect. So the two girls relished their bread and butter and strawberries with no alloy, for was not Magnus coming after supper for a walk? Magnus, and perhaps two more.

"Everything is so unusual," Rose said; "it makes one feel quite distinguished. Think of walking 'till call to quarters!"

"Yes, think of it," said Mrs. Congressman, carefully creaming her black tea. "Then you've been in the cars night and day since Monday. You must excuse me, young ladies. I know girls are untirable where cadets are concerned, but I am too old a bird for that sort of chaff, and I am going straight to my bed, as soon as I see you off. With your brother along, you'll not need me."

"May we sit on the piazza after we come back? Or must we go to bed, too?" asked Violet.

"Sit there? Yes. Must you go to bed? No. Sit there and gaze at the barracks till shutting up time comes, and then go upstairs and carry it on from your window. You're not obliged to go to bed at all, while you are at West Point. Who's coming to-night?"

"Magnus, of course, and Mr. Trueman. And Mr. McLean said he would, if he could."

"Three for two girls; you begin well. There, they are coming out, and you can go stand at the fence, and I can go to my bed."

"Why should we stand at the fence?"

"'Mahomet and the mountain,'" said Mrs. Congressman. "Bell buttons cannot come any nearer, without a special permit."

"But I do not like that," said Violet, drawing back. "You know you bade us not. It looks as if we were waiting for somebody."

"Silly girl! That is just what you are doing: now isn't then. Come, I'll see you safe to the fence."

So under that broad, protecting shadow the girls went down the walk; shy, and glad, and expectant, and just a trifle afraid; for were there not four dark figures coming rapidly across the plain? It was all so strange and entrancing; the straight shadows, the measured step.

"Ah, here you are!" cried Magnus. "Good-evening, Mrs. Ironwood."

"How d'ye do again," said that lady. "How d'ye do, Mr. Trueman, and Mr. McLean—and, as I'm alive!—Mr. Bouché! I suppose two of you have come for me. I'm so broad, you think one wouldn't hear what the other was saying, and you could both fool me to your heart's content."

There was a laugh and a protest (very honest, so far as the coming for her was concerned), and then the young people turned away, and Mrs. Congressman went to her much coveted repose.

"She fulfils her destiny," said Mr. Bouché, as he placed himself by Rose. "The only possible use of a chaperon is to go to sleep."

When feelings were young, and the world was new.

—Pringle.

There is no need to describe that walk, nor the many that followed it. Anybody who has been a girl—or had care of a girl—at West Point, knows without telling; though doubtless the walks vary according to the girl. But hither and thither, then as now, went Peace and War, in endless new combinations. Down among the grey rocks and green mosses of Flirtation, where the tide flowed by as softly as the minutes, and all the pretty whispers sounded true. Or up on the old fort; green enough once, but in these days pathetic as well as lovely in its helpless decline, and where much history might have been talked, and was not. Kosciusko's garden, Fort Clinton, even the Officer's Row—what tales they might tell, and are silent.

I must do Mrs. Ironwood the justice to say, that she did not fulfil her destiny after that night, so far as it involved going to sleep when she should be on duty. And she did the duty well, as befits long habit. Always accidentally on hand; keen-eyed, though taking no notice; interfering when she must, in a way that was wholly pleasant—and unmanageable. The two girls, so unlearned in the world, could not have had a more wisely careful friend. Violet never guessed how it was that she was generally free to walk with Mr. Trueman, nor why Mr. Clinker always fell to the lot of Mrs. Ironwood herself. "She must be very fond of him," thought the girls. And Magnus was careful, too, in a way, and would by no means present everybody he knew to his two young sisters.

So within that twofold invisible fence Violet and Rose moved joyously on, and had—as they wrote home—"the very loveliest time that girls could."

And it became plain to lynx-eyed Mrs. Congressman, that Magnus soon ceased to be the only grey figure on the horizon. His walks with other girls were borne meekly; and the days when he was on guard called forth less lamentation. In short (in the prettiest sort of way) the cadet fever had claimed our two young Westerners. As how should it not, when they were in such demand? Men did not stand round them to see "what those girls would do next," the poorest sort of a compliment; but came for the real liking and appreciation of the fair womanliness, of which even faulty men have an idea—or an ideal. Then fresh common sense is very pleasant when you find it; and if Rose was thought too sensible by some—or too sedate, Violet was as full of fun and frolic as any young, unspoiled nature ought to be; so they set each other off. But the fun was not pointed with slang, nor did the frolic show out in shrieks of laughter, or in familiar ways. It never occurred to either of them that it was witty to say "Get out!" or ladylike to beg for buttons and buckles. Or interesting, to give a kiss to some man who was unmannerly enough to ask it. But nobody dared that of them.

Mrs. Ironwood's "sleepy" eyes saw all these things; saw also, by degrees, some others. She could tell, to a time, how often Cadet-Captain Trueman had walked with Violet, as also that Violet seemed quite unconscious that he came oftener than other men.

"Great pity!" said Mrs. Ironwood in her heart, waving her fan there on the hotel piazza. "He's the best fellow living—and she's the girl of girls for him. But she hasn't a sou—and he hasn't; it would never do. I did try to keep Rose in the way—but my! he'd get round a standing army. Study, drills, examination, don't head him off one bit. A fine piece of three weeks' work! And in ten days more he graduates, and there's an end."

And just at that very time, this is what was going on among the casemates at Fort Putnam.

"Do you think you could live on a second lieutenant's pay?" Trueman was saying. "It is not much, you know—but then at first we should probably be stationed at some small one-company post, where it would not be needful to make a show."

"I have never lived where it was needful, or possible, to make a show," said Violet, with a bit of a laugh at the idea of being "stationed" anywhere. "But you know I have had no chance to think of anything yet."

"Yes, of course," said Trueman; "it's all very sudden to you. But the first minute I saw you I knew I had met my fate, and I have done nothing but think, ever since. Thinking out the fairest story that ever came into any man's heart. And I am going so soon. Write home to-night, will you, Miss Violet, and get leave to promise?"

And then with the sound of coming footsteps, the two drew apart a little, and walked decorously down the hill; Trueman screening himself carefully with Violet's blue parasol from the sun without, and she conscious only of a strange new sunlight within.

Rose, meanwhile, was having a different sort of talk with Mr. Bouché; an American, despite his French name.

He was a handsome fellow, stood well up in his class, and was proficient in more than West Point learning; but as much adrift as any unpiloted boat in all matters of faith, and some of practice. Why he sought out Rose Kindred (as he had done persistently from the day she came) it would be hard to tell, unless from that peculiar masculine contrariness which, as Mrs. Ironwood phrased it, "makes Arctic men always swear by the South Pole."

It was Mr. Bouché's special delight to get Rose away from everyone else, find her a splendid seat in some leafy nook, throw himself down on the grass where he must needs look up and so could properly gaze into her face, and then draw her into an argument. I do not know that Rose was more wedded to her opinions than other women, but she knew what she believed, which they do not all. And when the point was of importance she could fight, and fight well; zeal and love of the truth holding their own fearlessly against more polished weapons. Even as did the old "Queen's Arm" in the hand of one of her ancestors at Concord.

On this particular afternoon, every place seemed taken. Gee's Point, of course, but also the seat by the river edge, and the almost unscalable rocks, and the grey stones that lie about the way to Battery Knox.

"Never mind," Rose said. "I am not tired. I would just as leave walk."

"Tired! You? No," said Mr. Bouché; "you are the most rested creature that ever lived. But I am a lazy fellow, and I want a comfortable place, where you can lecture me."

"Upon your laziness?"

"Upon what you will. I need it all round."

"There will not be time for an all-round lecture before parade."

"Bother parade!" said Mr. Bouché. "Why need you remind a fellow of parade, just when he's happy? Here—come this way. Now we can dive through these bushes—look out for your dress, Miss Rose!—and we can sit on the rock and be out of the way of all the spoons. And Catkins himself couldn't find us."

Laughing at him, guarding her dress, following through the tangle like a true fresh-air girl, Rose presently forgot everything in the loveliness that was all about. Behind them, trees and bushes were both shade and screen; but in front there was only rock, river, and hill. The grey ledge on which they stood took a sudden dip almost at their feet, and went down, down, sheer and smooth, with little to break the line till it ended in a low fringe of riverside bushes. And the stream itself, curling rapidly round Gee's Point, went in full flow through the broadening channel towards Anthony's Nose and the "Race." One or two sailing vessels beat up against the breeze; from under the fringe of bushes came the measured dip of oars. The east-side hills, with their wavy outline, caught the full glory of the sinking sun.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Rose cried.

"Yes!" said Mr. Bouché, who had been eyeing the girl much as she studied the landscape; "just what I was thinking."

"It is like nothing I ever saw anywhere else," said Rose.

"Nor I," assented her companion.

"You see, I have never been just here before," said Rose, turning at the somewhat peculiar tone of voice. "Have you?"

"I am not sure—that I have," said Mr. Bouché, considering with himself whether certain sensations in the region of his heart could possibly (in a cadet of such wide experience) mean something new. "It rather seems to me not. What are you going to lecture me about, Miss Rose?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, yes, you are!" cried Bouché, rousing up. "That's not fair. It is in the bond that you are to lecture."

"Who signed the bond?"

"I—for self and partner," said Bouché audaciously.

"'Himself and he,'" said Rose, quoting Cowper.

"Now, that is truly unkind," said Mr. Bouché, with an injured air; "and therefore not like you, Miss Rose. And people should always speak in character. I am surprised at you. Do you believe that I never think of anybody but myself?"

"Oh, I suppose when you are speaking to me, you must be thinking of me a little," said Rose, a faint tinge coming into her cheeks as she made the admission. "Look at that eagle flying across the river."

"Let him fly—" said Bouché. "You really suppose I think of you 'a little,' then? When it's week days and Sundays, Saturdays and common days. When the reveille gun has grown sweet to my ear, because——"

"Now hush!" Rose interrupted him. "That is a good place to stop. Nothing ever yet made the reveille gun sound sweet to a cadet."

"Other cadets."

"Well, you are just another cadet," said Rose.

Bouché burst into a laugh, in spite of his efforts to look tragic.

"There," he said; "she's making fun of me. It's all up. I am only 'just another cadet.' One more in her train. Only so many additional bell buttons, and a pair of chevrons thrown in."

"Who is the professor of nonsense here?" Rose demanded. "I never saw such proficients as you cadets are, in all my life. Have you had forty pages to learn? and are you trying them off on me? Very well recited, Mr. Bouché."

"It isn't at all. You are getting off grinds on me the whole time, and that's not fair. I should think conscientious scruples would hinder you."

"Conscientious scruples?"

"Yes," said Bouché. "The way you throw away opportunities tries even my conscience. You see, Miss Rose, I never had folks to stand round me and keep me straight. I've been a Topsy boy, all my life."

"Topsy-turvy?" suggested Rose.

Bouché drew a deep sigh.

"There it goes again," he said; "I shall have to take it, I suppose. But I guess it's true. And now, when somebody has a chance to set me right, she don't do it."

"What could she do?" Rose asked, seriously now.

"For one thing, she could take a long, long walk with me on Sunday. Keep me out of mischief the whole afternoon."

"You mistake, Mr. Bouché," said Rose, turning her clear, grave eyes upon him. "Getting into mischief one's self, never helps anybody else out."

"How would you get in?" Bouché said eagerly. "I'd max it on care of you."

"Ah, yes, I do not doubt. But—I was not brought up so," Rose said, hesitating over her words. "At home, Sunday is such a special, set-apart, happy day. We never take it for common things."

"It would be a very special and happy day for me, if you would take the walk," said Bouché. "Of course you would count it 'common' doings to go with me, any day."

"It is not fair to twist my words," said Rose, looking troubled.

"Then if it would be uncommon, you can go. You are throwing down opportunities, Miss Rose. I'll take you to some remote, far-wilderness corner, and you shall preach to me till the drum beats. I'm as meek as skim-milk on Sunday. Why, if you only tell me to take my cap and go to chapel, I shall do it."

"But you have to do that."

"You'd better believe I wouldn't be there else," said Bouché. "But I'll listen to you a quarter longer than we give the chaplain."

"I do not think you will—for I shall not speak, on Sunday," said Rose.

"Not speak! Turning into 'a sweet, silent Carthusian,' and thinking up hard things to say to me on Monday."

Rose did not at once answer.

"Mr. Bouché," she said, "I think you make a great mistake about the chapel."

"It's the biggest-sized mistake to make me go there."

"But if you went willingly, you would forget all about being made to go," said Rose.

How Bouché laughed! Rose coloured a little, but stood her ground.

"I mean," she said, "the bonds you strive against are the ones that press hard."

"Good beginning," said the cadet, controlling himself. "Go on, Miss Rose."

"Well," she said, "then you need not have laughed at me quite so much. But somebody says, there are two ends to a sermon."

"Only one here," said Bouché, "and that's at the beginning."

"Two ends," Rose went on steadily; "the human and the Divine, the text and the preacher. If you begin with the preacher, one man may not like him, and another one may——"

"That man hasn't reported yet," Bouché interrupted her.

"And it would be just the same," Rose said, "if an angel came and preached to you. Some men would be sure to criticise him, and study the length of his wings."

"Wishing he'd use 'em to fly away with; that would be me, every time—unless he wore your bonnet."

"So the best speaker would not please you all," Rose concluded. "But if you would begin with the text, you could not dispute that authority, nor question that style. You would not dare to criticise it. And if you were studying the text all the way through, no sermon could seem dull, because it would have such living light upon it, from the Lord's own living words."

There was such a light and glow on the girl's own face, that Mr. Bouché gazed at her with evident admiration.

"All depends," he said. "Give me my particular angel for the preacher, and the text may go."

"Mr. Bouché," said Rose, rising up, "I am sure I heard a drum."

"You can always hear a drum here, any time of day or night."

"Not that drum; listen!"

"Happy drum to be listened to."

"But seriously, we must walk on; you will be late."

"'One private absent.' Hard on the Com. But it's not imminent yet, Miss Rose."

"Why, you do not look!" said Rose. "See how the shadow lies on the river. Please go! Just run on; never mind me."

"Never mind you!" said Bouché, taking leisurely steps at her side. "Not if I know it."

"Mr. Bouché, you will be late."

"Like enough. The first sergeant of D Company will tell it with his hand on his heart, regretfully adding: ''Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true.' And old Powder Flask will jump for joy in his regulation shoes."

"What for?"

"The chance of skinning me for the ninety-ninth time this week."

"Well, I'll not be responsible for his joy," said Rose. "Good-bye!" And as they came to one of the many cross-paths that led towards the plain, Rose suddenly turned up the ascent, running so lightly and easily that it was almost as pretty to see as the regular double-time. Bouché stood open-eyed for a second, and then came up with her, fuming.

"Now this is atrocious, preposterous, unheard of!" he said. "I don't care a button for a 'late.'"

"Well, you should," said Rose, laughing round at him, keeping her pace and her breath admirably. "And this might turn into a cold absence. You ought to care. Magnus says discipline counts. There's a different sort of text for you."

"I vow!" said Bouché. "Don't you give me any of his wise sayings, or I'll punch his head when I get back to barracks, the first thing."

"Not the first," said Rose with a gay laugh, as they reached the edge of the open, "Look! there goes the band. Run, Mr. Bouché!"

"As if I hadn't been running!" said Bouché, much aggrieved. "Miss Rose, I'll owe you one better for this."

And then, run he did.

The first week in June at West Point is such an old story that I had best not say much about it here. The (generally) perfect weather, the stirring drills, the crowd of lookers-on, with the sort of jail delivery from study hours and usual restrictions. The cadets come out and sun themselves like hibernated bees, or bears, with an unlimited taste for honey. "Best" dresses sweep the ground, "best" bonnets brave the wind; only the serene blue sky looks down unmoved at the show and frolic and madcap doings of the people. It is a little older than they.

The furlough men are wild with joy and expectation; the plebs have grown two inches since May. Second classmen are sporting imaginary chevrons (the nearest some of them will come to it); and the almost graduates walk at ease, kings in their own right. Bewitching damsels repeat the question, "O, where do you expect to be stationed?" But alas, the reply is not always, "Anywhere—with you!" That might have been in yearling camp; but things have changed; cadet limits are down; and Choice opens its eyes and waits.

In fact, there is need of some sober sense just now. For with the looming up of Fort Grant or Custer; Barrancas, Camp Assiniboine, or San Carlos: comes also the question of comforts and climates. These delicate creatures can walk all day and dance all night in West Point air. But what will their high heels do at Huachuca? and how will their fair cheeks stand the heat at Eagle Pass? Are they brave to be left with only soldier attendants when the young lieutenant is ordered off on a scout after Indians? Can they make bread, where the baker does not come round? and keep their sweet patience when some "ranking" new arrival swoops down upon their pretty quarters, and bids them move? Or again, what if the modest pay of a second-lieutenant should not comport with twenty-dollar bonnets?

Such questions go for little, when it's "a girl I have known for fifteen years"; but they press rather hard upon last week's acquaintance. No wonder many a face in the class looks thoughtful. And no wonder, either, that there are so many last leave-taking walks, for just the fair outlines and the grand old river, near and among which the men have won their shoulder-straps.

Among all the unwonted eyes that ever saw June come over West Point, none could get more delight than did Cadet Kindred's two young sisters. The mere shining out of the whole post in white trousers was an event. And the guns that greeted the Board of Visitors were, to the full, as imposing, as the various "planks" in that respected body. The girls watched every point of the welcoming review, and then studied the chosen guests as they trooped into the "big house" reception. But better than chicken salad indoors, was the music discoursed by the band in the pretty grounds outside. It may be said, however, that Violet did not fail to see Mr. Trueman, in sash and plume, go up the steps with the rest of the graduating class, and to think for one brief moment that it might be pleasant to go there too.

Only parade that night, but a wonderful walk after supper; and next day, and every day for ten more, a series of varied pleasures.

The examinations in the library were positively awe-inspiring; such battle plans, such hieroglyphics. There was some trembling of heart the first time they saw Magnus under fire; but he so plainly knew what he was about, that fear soon passed into rejoicing. And when Mr. Clinker was set to read Spanish, and the story (as translated) sounded unutterably ridiculous, Mrs. Ironwood declared that her two girls behaved better than she did.

Something of this in the morning; at night a concert; in the afternoon a drill. Perhaps on the cavalry plain with the ear-tearing racket of the Light Battery; where the guns were sometimes pointed at the ladies, and the ladies cried out, and stopped their ears, and ran away; and the hills sent back the thunder, and the descending sun half glorified the clouds of dust. Or maybe they went down by the river, and saw Mr. Trueman and a throng of unknown men build the pontoon bridge, themselves sitting on the grass in a blaze of sunshine, which the north wind softened down. With gay dresses on every side, and grey-and-white men standing behind them, or down on the grass too. Sugar-plums in many hands, the perfume of flirtation in all the air; and certainly their own attendant cavaliers were well disposed for both these soft delectations. But if Rose looked round, it was generally to put some intelligent question, which Bouché could only answer in kind; and Violet's bright eyes were too eagerly watching what Mr. True did with his boat, to heed what Randolph whispered about them.

How skilfully those huge grey pontoons swung into line; how stirring was the sounding tramp of the plank-bearers; how curiously they locked arms going back, and how very charming was the walk over that strange bridge when it was done.

Another day came skirmish drill, with the grey files in all sorts of varied action; the men scattered over the plain as a sower casts his seed. Speeding down in the hollow, dashing up the ridge, disappearing behind the trees, and firing straight at the pretty spectators. In those days, the short midway rest was all right for visiting; and so, when the other men dropped down on the grass, Magnus and Mr. Trueman and quite a little crowd came over to the seats, cap in hand. Smoky, and dusty, and hot—and charming—for a few minutes of lively talk. To the begrimed warriors every girl looked perfectly resplendent, in her fresh summer dress.

Then, as the drill went on, and the privates came down on one knee to fire, or crouched down, or lay at length, with the cadet officers standing motionless behind them; what terribly exposed positions the chevrons seemed to have! What a mark for the enemy's guns was each straight figure, casting its motionless shadow across the sunlit grass. Bullets might whistle over the men on the ground—but for these! It was all too real; and the young sisters were glad when those on the ground sprang up, and leaders and men were merged in an equality of danger.

One night there was the noisy, vivid, weird mortar drill; touched up with talk, flitting changes of place, comments, explanations, and fairyland bursts of red fire. What a night that was! The roar of the guns, the soft-spoken words; the flash-illumined smoke, the dark figures behind the "footlights" on the battery; the motley human mass which the crimson fire caught in its red glow.

Less picturesque, but more breathless in interest, was the cavalry drill on the plain and the grand charge.

In happy ignorance that surgeons and their attendants were in watchful waiting, the two girls found the whole thing just magnificent, and caught no hint of danger, even from other people's outcries. There was one lady in particular, handsome, well-dressed, and knowing everybody, whose son was in the drill, and whose fears were many and public. In the midst of the most harmless evolutions she was, as she phrased it, "on thorns"; and she danced about as if it were true.

Up on a seat to see better; down again that she might not see at all; with little cries and shrieks and groans of fright or expostulation—it was droll enough. Rose thought she would watch her when the charge really came,—and forgot her as July forgets December.

There had been a few minutes of seeming quiet, the squad all down by the library; but anyone who looked keenly could see this man examining his bridle, and that one tightening the girth. You could see them looking to their stirrups, or rising a little in the saddle to get a better seat. Then they began to move forward, slowly at first, then quicker, till the word was given:

"Charge!" and horses and men came tearing along like a Kansas cyclone upon the resounding road.

In some of the quieter moments before the charge, Rose and Violet had picked out two or three men they knew, noting their horses (they were not all dark then); and now, even in that dusty whirlwind, the grey and the black could be seen and followed. And—yes, certainly—Mr. Trueman's horse has leaped the Hotel fence, and the plucky rider puts him at it again, and comes bounding back. And Mr. Clinker's steed has swerved at the crossroad and gone dashing along towards Trophy Point, for freedom and Highland Falls. However, he missed in both, and everything came out right, and nobody was hurt; and the drill was pronounced in every way first-class. But for days after, when Violet shut her eyes, she seemed to see the flashing sabres, and hear again the ringing shout; and to watch that particular grey horse as he leaped the hedge.

Then came graduation; and Violet had the first sight of Mr. Trueman's diploma, as soon as he could step aside and show it. And Magnus was made first captain, and Mr. Bouché shone forth as adjutant; and even Mr. McLean found his arm adorned with three bright bars, to his own astonishment.

"All owing to Kin," he confided to the two sisters. "If he hadn't pinched me black and blue every day since Christmas, I should be on my way back to Kansas, to hoe potatoes for the rest of my life."

It may be said, in passing, that Mr. Trueman lingered at the post for a few days in "cits," and finally departed with a permit to show himself in the Western home, and plead his own cause there.

Mrs. Ironwood lingered, too, even longer, to let her charge have a taste of the pretty concerts and guard-mounting in camp; and then the girls packed their trunk, and saw the hills fade away in a mist that was all in their own eyes.

A very busy six months followed first-class camp; the autumn full of drills and study, the winter of examination, hard work, and the Hundredth Night. With the opening spring poured in the usual flood of tradesmen and their wares; company drills began, early visitors came, and June was coming. The lower classmen, as usual, were on tiptoe with glee and excitement; and, also as usual, were the ballasting thoughts in many a first-class head. Questions of regiments, of posts, and of girls.

But for Charlemagne Kindred all that was settled. If he were ordered to the North Pole, and stationed on the tip end of it, he should still take Cherry. And if he could not keep the wind from roughening her soft hair, Lieutenant Kindred would be a much more incompetent person than Cadet Charlemagne thought possible. Cherry was just the girl for Arctic regions; she would sketch the icebergs, sing to the seals, and teach them Greek. And in the long evenings by their driftwood fire, they could plan out where to live when he wore three stars on his shoulder, and was retired on full pay for special services as yet unknown. A little soon for that, to be sure; but there is no harm in being beforehand, even "quite some," as they say in New Jersey. They could draw plans for the house, and so save on architects when the time came.

Other big questions came up for other men. Should this one assume at once the debt which the dear home people shouldered so patiently to send him to West Point? And how much can this other save from his slender pay, to help educate his young brothers and sisters? It touches one's heart to see the dainty articles of dress that are bought for the girls at home, whose life has been chiefly homespun.

Then what work will they find to do at the strange, far-away posts? Work in that other army to which, as boys, they were mustered in? For there are many church members in the corps; and I doubt if there is one to whom the old vows do not come up in mind before graduation. Sometimes, perhaps, with a never-so-keen perception of what Paul meant when he said: "I have finished my course; I have kept the faith." Paul could have claimed the lower honours too; learned, skilled, an acute theologian, a matchless writer. But no earthly plaudits were in his thoughts; only the Lord's "Well done"; the crown which those Royal hands would give him "at that day."

The spring flew on, tossing off its freight of snowdrops, violets, columbine, and apple blossoms. Twenty-three days to June, twenty-two days; then came more tidings.

Mr. Erskine was failing, so the mother wrote; failing steadily and fast. It was doubtful if Magnus would see his friend again; and the young cadet's heart went out with a great yearning to the lonely girl of whom he would so soon be the chief earthly protector. And once again Magnus gave thanks for that grace which had brought him through the fire, and made him fit to take such a charge. But none of them could come for graduation.

"Of course we cannot leave Cherry," so Violet wrote; "one of us is up there all the time. Cherry looks like a white wind-flower. O, Magnus, I wish you were here!" And Magnus gave a groan and turned to his tally: twenty-one days to June.

But he did what he could. He wrote Cherry a letter every day, saying everything he could to beguile her thoughts. He sent the last picture of himself, and the class picture, and a photograph of the up-river view. In every letter went his marks for the day, with what bits of mischief or of news the Post could furnish. He told what girls he had walked with, and of his rambles alone; giving her much to read and to talk of. With all this he studied untiringly, refused invitations, went up in his marks, and was often fagged enough when tattoo beat; but less with the work than with excitement and tension.

He had applied for a regiment not then near San Carlos; but so much depended upon how many men went to Willet's Point that he could guess little as to his own placing. One thing was sure, he was learning fast. Lessons of patience, of self-control, of trust; so winning true promotion, day by day. Finding out also, with new understanding, the exceeding helpfulness of prayer; learning to lay down cares and questions at the feet of that blessed Lord Jesus who "doeth all things well." Rank and post, life and death, could safely be left with Him! A great peace and a great strength were in the face of Magnus Kindred in those days.

If he seemed graver than usual, it was that with every chance his thoughts flew away. Or, rather, were some of them always in that far-off sick-room. For whoever else might be with her, Magnus knew, unerringly, how Cherry's heart reached out for him. How, in every hard moment, with every new token of the coming sorrow, the longing for him leaped up and grew. Sometimes it made him almost desperate enough to go, at all risks.

As a last comfort to himself and to her, Magnus took off his class ring and expressed it on, bidding her wear it till he came to put another in its place. She would not take it last summer, but she must now. And there was no telling what that ring was to the girl, and to her father as well, making the bond so tangible and real. Cherry studied it in her lonely night watches, and Mr. Erskine's heart gave thanks at every gleam of the stone as her hands' sweet ministry came about him. While far away, Magnus, on his part, was verifying and honouring all their trust.

So came on June, with her rose-trimmed slippers; and it seemed that first summer afternoon as if the whole countryside poured down upon West Point. Long before four o'clock the seats were full, then crowded; the wagon-load of campstools vanished as they came; and soon even standing-room was at a premium. And when the Board of Visitors had reviewed the Corps, and the Corps the Board, everybody who had the right crowded in to the reception, while the left-out throng whirled round with one accord, and sat staring with all its eyes at the open door and solid front of the Superintendent's quarters. If only X-rays had been on hand! The interest grew to a keen point when the first class (all together then, though now they go scattering in) passed through the gate, doffed their plumed hats, and vanished within the doorway.

Magnus was claimed by old friends and presented to new, had a great grip of Mr. Wayne's hand, and brought little Miss Bee a plate of lobster salad deeply bordered with sunshine.

I think Cadet Charlemagne had learned a little more about girls than he once knew; and the light and colour that came into this particular shy face at sight of him, smote him with a sense of at least possible past mistakes. She had no need to think so much of his small civilities. And Mr. Kindred bowed himself away, and made merry in a gauzy circle of colours near by. And then, when Miss Bee looked so left out in the cold, Magnus rushed up again, took her plate, brought her an ice, and made things worse than ever. Manlike, he thought the fast-and-loose plan worked to admiration.

Now privately, Miss Bee cared nothing for lobster and very little for ice; but it felt so good to be noticed and to have something to do, that I think she hardly knew what she had. And had not Mr. Kindred said the ice would "refresh" her? So she ate a little, played with it a little, and heard, nolens-volens, a good deal of talk.

"Why, here is Mr. Kindred!" said one of his Christmas friends. "All on tiptoe for shoulder-straps."

"Mr. Kindred has small occasion to stand on 'tiptoe' for anything," said Miss Lane. "But what have you done with your beautiful class ring? Not lost it?"

"Hardly, since I know where it is. Lost things are said to keep cool company in the moon."

"What is keeping company with your ring?" said Miss Saucy. "Your heart, of course?"

"Of course."

"Will she be here for the hop?"

"Since when were hearts feminine? No, I do not think 'she' will," said Magnus. "Hearts are best at home, hop nights."

The talk went on, the crowd drifted; and little Miss Bee in her corner held her plate and ate her ice, and tasted nothing. Of course, she had seen that the ring was missing; but then no girl had boasted its possession. And men took whims.

What tales dark corners could tell; of hard-pressed fights, of struggles, of victory! The band played, the throng increased—then began to thin out. Presently Magnus came and took the plate from the weary fingers, asking if she would have anything more.

"No, nothing," she assured him with a smile. But something in the smile and its quiet patience, made him dart over to the table and fetch a handful of the gayest bonbons and mottoes, and bestow them in Miss Bee's own hands. A man's blunder, again! And yet perhaps not. Of course the sweets were not eaten; they were conveyed away and stored among Miss Bee's few chiefest treasures; but I think in time they became a comfort, too; shining tokens of what a friend she had had in one of the foremost men of the Corps. It could not be helped that this put other men at a discount.

For the ten days that followed no one saw much of Cadet Kindred, in any of those between-times that he could call his own. West Point outlines had cast their lovely spell about him; and with every chance he was down by the river, up among the rocks; climbing the leafy ways; saying good-bye, and then coming back to say it again.