"No; this one says: 'Magnus Kindred—and every other man who is enjoying himself—run!'"
"O, then, do go, dear!" pleaded the girls. "O, Magnus! do not be late. See, those men are running."
But Magnus gave no sort of heed. He bowed to Miss Newcomb, looked after the speeding grey coats, and remarked calmly:
"Let them run. They want practice." But when the next call sounded, Magnus turned.
"That spells," he said: "'Magnus Kindred—and every other poor fellow who doesn't mean to be skinned—scamper!'" and scamper he certainly did. The two girls watched him, breathless and anxious.
"There are three ladies right in his way," said Violet. "Oh, I hope they'll not stop him!"
But no, indeed; a cadet dodging a "late" is not so easily stopped. Magnus knew them, took off his cap to them, spoke some words of greeting, but never stayed his pace; and his sisters had the pleasure of seeing him dive in through the sallyport before the drum said another word. Then they looked at each other and laughed.
"Such a boy!" said Rose.
"But how he did run," said Violet. Then they both were silent with intensest interest. For the old grey barracks presently took to itself the well-known likeness of a beehive in swarming time, and ignorant eyes could as little tell what was going on as the uninitiated can guess that the bees are searching for their queen. Hanging round the doorways, clustering in front, with new forms all the time pouring out, until, like the tin pan of the farmer's wife, that mysterious drum brought order, and they settled down in a long, long line upon the sidewalk.
Just at this point, with all the dangerous element in safe bonds, Mrs. Ironwood left her girls for a while and went for a chat on one of the hospitable porches behind her. Several other people also moved away, for a walk or a talk; and the vacant seats were taken by a handful of girls just come on the ground, and who, noting the new faces, were now in the keen pursuit of knowledge.