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."