"But Magnus!" said Mrs. Kindred, calling him back, "you have not told me what Mr. Erskine says. Do you know yourself? He knits his brows so sometimes, when he is looking at you, that I never dare ask him. Is he willing, do you think?"
"He will be, before I get through with him," said Magnus confidently, and he went whistling up the hill, as though that small task were done to his hand.
XXXVI
SAN CARLOS
Mix up a barrel of sand and ashes and thorns, and jam scorpions and rattlesnakes along in, and dump the outfit on stones, and heat the stones red hot; and set the United States army loose over the place chasin' Apaches; and you've got San Carlos.
—U. S. Soldier, in Harper's Magazine.
And I suppose so it was; the task was really ended when the idea came in. A strong protector for his darling when his own care should fail, had been the longing in Mr. Erskine's heart for many a day, and Magnus Kindred had always been second only to Cherry in his heart. Yet to give her up before the time, and, instead of leaving her, to have her leave him, it was sharp enough. No wonder he knit his brows now and then in the midst of all the gaiety, and almost put out a hand between his child and this youngster who claimed such rights and took them with such assurance. No wonder if he frowned a little now, to-day, as Magnus came whistling up, and throwing himself down on a lower step of the porch, waited for the older man to speak.
But for a while the silence was unbroken, as Mr. Erskine made a sort of final examination; obliged to come back to the judgment he had given weeks ago, that Charlemagne Kindred was "a splendid fellow." The critical eyes could find no fault.
Very serious the face was now, as he sat there looking off, schooling himself to patient waiting, once in a while almost starting up at some sound of Cherry's voice or step within the house. I am afraid Mr. Erskine took a malign pleasure in keeping him where he was. The malignity was not deep, however, for once, when some scrap of a song floated down from an open upstairs window, there came a look over the face of Cadet Charlemagne Kindred—a sudden light and love and joy—to which the father's eyes gave such sympathetic answer that he was fain to screen them with his hand.
"Well, young sir," he began at last, "I suppose you want to know what I have to say to you?"
"Yes, sir. Furlough ends next week," Magnus answered, without looking round.