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."