XXIII
THE GRIM GRAY WALLS
I'm older'n you,—and I've seen things a many;
And my experience,—tell ye what it's ben;—
Folks that worked thorough was the ones that thriv;
But bad work follers ye's long's ye live. —Biglow Papers.
Next day the tents were struck; and the manifold delights of Camp Golightly drifted away beyond recall. But how pretty—and how gay—the scene was, that last morning.
A perfect day to begin with; the air crisp enough to herald the coming fall; everything at its best, and the crowd at its largest. Mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, and strangers, the whole Post, and half the neighbourhood. The groups are always very varied, often picturesque.
Here stands a tall first classman, perfectly hemmed in by the dear people from home. His cap is off, and his face aglow; and lifted high up in his arms is the pet of the family; the little girl's hand straying round his neck, her soft childish dress and his gleaming chevrons setting each other off in a very perfect way.
Beyond them is a many-coloured group of girls and dresses, but the girls look sleepy, and the muslins a trifle tired. The small hours of the hop last night have been too much for both. They are languidly talking over supposed conquests, rousing up now and then to say good-bye to special cadet friends, with many promises to come back next June for graduation. Under another tree is another party in the freshest of dresses, but themselves in the dumps.
"Why, Amy!" says one of the calmest of the group, "you are almost crying!"
"Oh, it is too awful to have it all go!" said Miss Amy, never taking her tearful gaze from the white tents. "I asked Ella this morning how she could possibly sit there and eat all that chicken and egg. I couldn't touch a thing!"
And beyond these again stands a camera and its attendant genii, where a half-dozen mothers and their cadet sons are getting photographed together.
Great army wagons pass back and forth between camp and barracks, bearing away bedding, lockers, brooms, and looking-glasses; and over the same short road go men in grey, with private effects too precious for the wagon, or perhaps only a belated broom.