Between the hills the flood of the great river poured along unchecked, until where in the very foreground the grey-green bluff of Martlaer's Rock thrust itself out athwart the stream; bringing it with one sharp turn to its very narrowest and deepest part. For a little distance then, in front of Magnus, the river ran east and west—along the Rock; then took another short turn, and went racing south; the lovely "Shaw-na-taw-ty," that "flows toward the midday." Between the river and the homesick boy lay only the broken hillside and the silent guns.
There were no human voices, either, but a chance medley of sweet sounds from other throats. Song sparrows in their rollicking glee, with the homespun twitter of a chipping sparrow, giving her brood their first outing. Robins kept up their changing chorus; crows cawed; among the distant trees you could hear the thrush bells now and then. The indescribable sighs and murmurs and trills of the summer wind, the soft touches of the mighty river along its banks, filled every moment of unappropriated time.
Magnus forgot everything, as he looked and listened. June threw her warm spell over him, and for the minute again he was content.
"Yes, that can't be beat," remarked his neighbour in grey, who had been watching him closely. "Look at it all you want to; now is a good time."
"I think every time is good, for such a view," Magnus said, facing round.
"When do you report?" asked the other abruptly.
"To-morrow." Magnus answered the question, perceiving the next instant that again he was noted as a candidate.
"Well, next week, if you are here, you'll find some other hills lying round promiscuous, and you won't think quite so much about these."
"How did you know I was to report at all?"
The cadet laughed.