Out in the company streets there gathered and grew the while, this day, an array of rubbish; old shoes and gloves, old boxes that had once held boodle, white jars that must have known tobacco, and yet had baffled (somehow) all tactical noses. White handkerchiefs—this one, indeed, duly marked "Smith, J." but this other, alas! filmy and fine with embroidery and lace. Once coveted and begged for and hid away, now tossed out among mess-hall spoons, stray towels, and broken glass. Had it even, perhaps, belonged to the fair damsel now weeping over the coming wreck of Camp Golightly? Take warning, young ladies, and do not waste your pocket handkerchiefs.
As time went on, the grey element gradually faded out from about the seats, and the white canvas began to shrink and fall from its smooth shapeliness, with cadets clustering in and about every tent.
The drummers came, and the first drum sounded. The tents shivered and swayed, the cadets took new positions, the breeze played over their heads and threatened to strike the tents at its own pleasure. Another drum, and now every eye and hand are needed to maintain even the semblance of a camp. Another—and the pretty little white town falls prostrate, and the grey men have the field.
Then fold and bundle up, with some cheers for the quickest; the full band marches in, the Commandant leads off on horseback—and away goes the grey-and-white host, plumes waving, arms glancing, all down the old road to the officers' row, and so on to barracks. And over the plain in all sorts of groups and combinations, goes a motley crowd of the sovereign people, vainly striving to get there first.
Poor little Miss Amy! Your cambric handkerchief lies limp and low in D Company street; and the man who was to keep it "always" marches past in the battalion, his head high in air.
A day or two of freedom follow, for getting settled; a few last bewitching walks are taken by some, while others peep into their study books and try to brush off a little of the summer's dust which dims that respected pile. And so comes the 1st of September.
I think Magnus Kindred was glad to get back to barracks, if only to tackle the year which should bring in furlough, and the yearling course certainly gave him enough to do. But who could not work with furlough before him? and of late another thought had taken new hold of his heart. He was but one, yet the honour of the name he bore was just so far in his keeping. If he stood high, it would be one answer to the taunt that religion made muffs of men. That would surely be said, if he were low in discipline, careless in dress, idle in studies.
So for one cause and another, Magnus worked with all his might; stood one in discipline, and in other things went steadily up. And his example told; there was a strong, sound atmosphere about him that other men could feel.
His dose of bitter-sweet thoughts about himself had done him good; and though he could not help hearing and seeing many things he did not like, join in them he would not, even if people laughed at him. More stringent orders than any blue book shows had taken new hold of the boy's heart, drawing him back from evil, speeding him on to good. "I have sworn unto the Lord, and I will perform it." Magnus and the flag had a good deal to say to each other in those days.
What busy days they were! New studies, new drills, riding among the rest; but that was a delight. The days shortened, the girls drifted away to less studious regions, the leaves fell—then the snowflakes; and the winter settled down into the long, steady stride which brought furlough nearer with every step.