LII
THE BIG RECEPTION
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
——You do climb up it now; look how we labour.
—Shakespeare.
A very busy six months followed first-class camp; the autumn full of drills and study, the winter of examination, hard work, and the Hundredth Night. With the opening spring poured in the usual flood of tradesmen and their wares; company drills began, early visitors came, and June was coming. The lower classmen, as usual, were on tiptoe with glee and excitement; and, also as usual, were the ballasting thoughts in many a first-class head. Questions of regiments, of posts, and of girls.
But for Charlemagne Kindred all that was settled. If he were ordered to the North Pole, and stationed on the tip end of it, he should still take Cherry. And if he could not keep the wind from roughening her soft hair, Lieutenant Kindred would be a much more incompetent person than Cadet Charlemagne thought possible. Cherry was just the girl for Arctic regions; she would sketch the icebergs, sing to the seals, and teach them Greek. And in the long evenings by their driftwood fire, they could plan out where to live when he wore three stars on his shoulder, and was retired on full pay for special services as yet unknown. A little soon for that, to be sure; but there is no harm in being beforehand, even "quite some," as they say in New Jersey. They could draw plans for the house, and so save on architects when the time came.
Other big questions came up for other men. Should this one assume at once the debt which the dear home people shouldered so patiently to send him to West Point? And how much can this other save from his slender pay, to help educate his young brothers and sisters? It touches one's heart to see the dainty articles of dress that are bought for the girls at home, whose life has been chiefly homespun.
Then what work will they find to do at the strange, far-away posts? Work in that other army to which, as boys, they were mustered in? For there are many church members in the corps; and I doubt if there is one to whom the old vows do not come up in mind before graduation. Sometimes, perhaps, with a never-so-keen perception of what Paul meant when he said: "I have finished my course; I have kept the faith." Paul could have claimed the lower honours too; learned, skilled, an acute theologian, a matchless writer. But no earthly plaudits were in his thoughts; only the Lord's "Well done"; the crown which those Royal hands would give him "at that day."
The spring flew on, tossing off its freight of snowdrops, violets, columbine, and apple blossoms. Twenty-three days to June, twenty-two days; then came more tidings.
Mr. Erskine was failing, so the mother wrote; failing steadily and fast. It was doubtful if Magnus would see his friend again; and the young cadet's heart went out with a great yearning to the lonely girl of whom he would so soon be the chief earthly protector. And once again Magnus gave thanks for that grace which had brought him through the fire, and made him fit to take such a charge. But none of them could come for graduation.
"Of course we cannot leave Cherry," so Violet wrote; "one of us is up there all the time. Cherry looks like a white wind-flower. O, Magnus, I wish you were here!" And Magnus gave a groan and turned to his tally: twenty-one days to June.