"So nice to have a private chaplain along," Miss Freak had said airily, trying to throw off her thoughts. But the other girls frowned down all attempts at fun in that direction, and harmony reigned. Or, to speak more correctly, the lunch baskets reigned in a very harmonious atmosphere.
Sitting about on moss or stones, after the good cheer had vanished, the cadets got off so many "grinds" that poor Mrs. Newcomb declared she should have no strength left to help her down the hill. Then they sang songs, and gave out conundrums. The girls made chains of the pine needles, and the men in grey put them on, and declared them emblematic and imperishable.
On her part, Miss Lane went on with her study of Magnus Kindred, watching him keenly. She noticed that though he took the frail green links from her hands, putting them round his cap, twining them about his arm, he said no word of their being "fetters"—called them garlands, instead. She felt that in all the light play, the cavalier-like deference, there was no sham devotion, no hint of deeper things. Yet he wore his class ring. And she knew she was pretty, and felt certain she was well dressed. It piqued her; she would have liked to see those green chains press hard, with a permanent sensation. And then, when she went off to look at some side view which Mr. Clinker recommended, what did Mr. Kindred do but seat himself by Mrs. Newcomb and talk to her! It was extremely trying.
I think, to me, the way down Crownest is more difficult than the way up; taking hold perhaps upon a set of less-used muscles; but the party all came safe and sound to the lower level and easier going of the plain.
"Now you must be sure and come to us at Christmas," Mrs. Newcomb was saying, as they parted. "We shall expect you all."
"Well, I can't come, sorry to say," Mr. Clinker answered with a laugh. "I've got a previous with the Com. Awfully hard lines for me—but it's just my luck."
XLII
CHRISTMAS LEAVE
Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, they were men that stood alone. —James Russell Lowell.
Cold weather came early. Mrs. Newcomb's picnic was the last of the season, and most of the human birds of passage grew chilly, and took their bright plumage back to city streets. A few visitors lingered on; people with no children to put to school, or with some son or brother in the Corps.