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."