"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.