Pray to God, but continue to row to the shore.

—Russian Proverb.

But work did come hard! The reveille gun was such an impertinence after the lazy summer mornings at home. Every officer figured as an enemy, every drill was an unmitigated bore. And despite what people say about changed seasons, it rained Saturday afternoon then, as it always does now; while if it rained other days too, yet it was sure to clear up in time for drill—or the cadets thought so, which did as well.

Such meals, too, three times a day! Fair enough in ordinary, and easily disposed of by the healthy young appetites, whetted with hard work and open air; but thrown into utter disgrace just now by the background of "mother's" dainties and "home" cream. They were sober enough, these furlough men. But it is hard for even quiet steeds to go calmly back from pasture into the traces; some other fiery young coursers were simply rampant. A good deal of mischief went on in those first weeks in barracks.

Magnus Kindred kept out of it, partly because he had Cherry's image before his eyes; but also because he liked his freedom better than anything else, and had never learned to confound license with liberty. No amount of fun on Monday, would pay him for spending the next Saturday afternoon on the area.

So while other men "ran it" to the Hotel or to Highland Falls, paying that unpleasant penalty, Cadet Kindred kept his playtime free, taking long, long walks over the mountain or in other leafy regions where the squirrels and woodpeckers had it all to themselves. Studying the fanciful piebald of the autumn leaves, gathering the quaint yellow witch-hazel blooms, and the white ladies' tresses; and bringing back to barracks such a clear head for study that he went up hand over hand. Men said he was in love—which was certainly true; and some, that he was trying to "bootlick the Supe," which was as certainly false. And again others, that he was "boning Willet's Point." But no; he was doing better, and simply "boning" the highest stand he could reach.

Meanwhile, to grace the lovely fall weather, several new flowers—or birds—might be seen at parade and on the sidewalk. And Magnus had been duly presented, and had done his first devoirs to the fair strangers. But after that he thought he might please himself again, and muse and climb among the beloved old rocks.

"Where does Mr. Kindred go every Saturday?" Miss Berry demanded of Rig one day. "You know I'm visiting at the corner house, and can watch both ways. But while I'm running from one window to the other, he always contrives to vanish; and I never can tell into which house."

"Of course I cannot say, Miss Jo," Rig answered, "because you know I never get round the corner. The minute I see you watching for me, I stop and come in."

"Watching for you! I think I see myself," said Miss Berry.

"You'll see something very sweet, when you do," said Rig politely.

"It'll be something pretty sour, if you're not careful," retorted Miss Berry. "But say—I'm awfully curious to know. Where does he go most, Saturdays?"

"Why, nowhere, to visit, they say," said the hostess.

"Isn't there someone he cares about out West, Mr. McLean?"

"He has two charming sisters."

"Oh, of course!—all you cadets have charming sisters," said Miss Jo impatiently. "Anybody else?"

"Lots of girls there," Rig replied. "They haven't all come East by several."

"What do Western girls look like?"

"Angels, some of 'em," said Rig, thinking of Violet's eyes.

"Did you see Mr. Kindred's best girl?"

"I rather suspect I saw three of them," Rig answered slowly.

"Three! Why, the man's a Turk. Wasn't one better than the other?"

"I thought so," said Rig. "It's a matter of opinion, I suspect."

"Oh, shut up!" said Miss Jo, with beautiful ease of manner. "It's no more possible to get the truth out of a cadet, than——"

"Than to get it without him," suggested Rig.

"I'll get at it somehow, you'd better believe," said Miss Jo. "What were these three girls called?"

"One of them seemed to have a sort of French title; the other two answered to plain English."

"French—that's a likely story. What do you know about French?"

"Not much," Rig confessed. "Don't be hard on me, Miss Jo. I expect to be found in January, but you might leave a fellow hopes till then."

"And you will not tell us a thing about Mr. Kindred," joined in another girl.

"Well, now"—said Rig,—"that's putting it rather strong. But here comes Kin himself; he ought to know. He's of age, ask him, as the Jews said in the Bible." And Mr. McLean stepped to the window and hailed his friend, who had not had the faintest intention of calling upon anybody that afternoon.

However, so summoned, there was nothing else to do. So Magnus came in, hung up his cap in the hall, shook hands with his hostess and the other ladies, and then, after the manner of cadet chaff, asked Rig what he was fooling there for? wasting his own time as well as Miss Jo's?

"She said she hadn't any to lose, so I'm safe there," answered Mr. McLean.

"Make the most of it,—that won't carry you far," said Miss Jo. "What do you suppose he has been doing, Mr. Kindred?"

"Could not guess—when it is Rig."

"Absolutely quoted the Bible to me. I came so near fainting away that he called you in for a tonic."

"Quoted it pertinently?"

"No, impertinently. Oh, Mr. Kindred, will you let me have a walk after chapel on Sunday?"

"Certainly—but I cannot take you to get it."

"I suppose that passes for cadet wit," said Miss Jo, pouting. "Why cannot you, pray?"

"Something else to do: a previous."

"You can't fool me so," said Miss Jo, shaking her flaxen head. "You know your best girl isn't here."

"What then?"

"Then there is nobody else you need walk with. I think you're very unkind, Mr. Kindred. And I've got such a box of candy as you never saw."

"Let me see it now," said Magnus, smiling. "Destroy ignorance wherever you find it."

"I guess I will! No, I'll give that walk to Mr. Clayton, and nobody else shall have a crumb."

"Or a smile."

"Good for Clayton," said Rig. "Then he won't have to dead-beat to the hospital Monday morning, but can go there for good and sufficient reasons."

"Aren't you ashamed!—as if my candy was poison," said Miss Jo indignantly.

"Mr. Kindred," said the hostess, "my curiosity is astir about this 'best girl' of yours; I should like to know your taste. What is she like?"

"Like herself: I know nobody else," said Magnus.

"So then she really does exist somewhere?"

"Why, you asked about her."

"Yes, of course I did; but then I didn't know but Mr. McLean had been fooling us."

"Would he dare do that?"

"It's my belief he fools about everything," said Miss Jo. "And you too. I don't think you cadets know how to be serious about a single thing."

"Grinds are almost the staff of life here," said Magnus. "But you do Rig unjustice: he'll be serious enough when he gets zero in wave motion."

"Don't speak of wave motion Saturday afternoon," pleaded Rig. "It's the only time in the week when anything stands still and right side up. The air waves, and the light waves; and not a thing is steady, from Saturday night to Saturday noonday."

"I hope you do not study wave motion on Sunday," said the hostess reprovingly.

"Only practises it in chapel, you know," said Magnus. "Rig goes to sleep systematically, and keeps up in wave motion by a series of graceful nods."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Rig. "Well, I sometimes do, that's a fact. Somebody stuck a pin into me last Sunday. Wasn't you, was it, Kin?"

"It was not my pin. Come away, Rig, you've got another visit to pay before retreat," and the two bowed themselves out. "I don't believe I'll call on Miss Saucy to-day," said Rig, as they walked along. "I got thinking about your handsome sisters, and that takes the taste out of other girls."

"Oh, does it!" said Magnus mockingly. "If you say that again, I'll report you to the Com. for a cannibal. There—the Kitten is tapping on the window for you, and you can go to Miss Saucy later. Run in; there's a lot of girls staying there."

And Rig ran in. But in the hall, while giving himself those finishing touches in which even men indulge, Rig found that Cadet Kindred had slipped away to parts unknown.