West Point Colors

by Anna Bartlett Warner

But he did what he could. He wrote Cherry a letter every day, saying everything he could to beguile her thoughts. He sent the last picture of himself, and the class picture, and a photograph of the up-river view. In every letter went his marks for the day, with what bits of mischief or of news the Post could furnish. He told what girls he had walked with, and of his rambles alone; giving her much to read and to talk of. With all this he studied untiringly, refused invitations, went up in his marks, and was often fagged enough when tattoo beat; but less with the work than with excitement and tension.

He had applied for a regiment not then near San Carlos; but so much depended upon how many men went to Willet's Point that he could guess little as to his own placing. One thing was sure, he was learning fast. Lessons of patience, of self-control, of trust; so winning true promotion, day by day. Finding out also, with new understanding, the exceeding helpfulness of prayer; learning to lay down cares and questions at the feet of that blessed Lord Jesus who "doeth all things well." Rank and post, life and death, could safely be left with Him! A great peace and a great strength were in the face of Magnus Kindred in those days.

If he seemed graver than usual, it was that with every chance his thoughts flew away. Or, rather, were some of them always in that far-off sick-room. For whoever else might be with her, Magnus knew, unerringly, how Cherry's heart reached out for him. How, in every hard moment, with every new token of the coming sorrow, the longing for him leaped up and grew. Sometimes it made him almost desperate enough to go, at all risks.

As a last comfort to himself and to her, Magnus took off his class ring and expressed it on, bidding her wear it till he came to put another in its place. She would not take it last summer, but she must now. And there was no telling what that ring was to the girl, and to her father as well, making the bond so tangible and real. Cherry studied it in her lonely night watches, and Mr. Erskine's heart gave thanks at every gleam of the stone as her hands' sweet ministry came about him. While far away, Magnus, on his part, was verifying and honouring all their trust.

So came on June, with her rose-trimmed slippers; and it seemed that first summer afternoon as if the whole countryside poured down upon West Point. Long before four o'clock the seats were full, then crowded; the wagon-load of campstools vanished as they came; and soon even standing-room was at a premium. And when the Board of Visitors had reviewed the Corps, and the Corps the Board, everybody who had the right crowded in to the reception, while the left-out throng whirled round with one accord, and sat staring with all its eyes at the open door and solid front of the Superintendent's quarters. If only X-rays had been on hand! The interest grew to a keen point when the first class (all together then, though now they go scattering in) passed through the gate, doffed their plumed hats, and vanished within the doorway.

Magnus was claimed by old friends and presented to new, had a great grip of Mr. Wayne's hand, and brought little Miss Bee a plate of lobster salad deeply bordered with sunshine.

I think Cadet Charlemagne had learned a little more about girls than he once knew; and the light and colour that came into this particular shy face at sight of him, smote him with a sense of at least possible past mistakes. She had no need to think so much of his small civilities. And Mr. Kindred bowed himself away, and made merry in a gauzy circle of colours near by. And then, when Miss Bee looked so left out in the cold, Magnus rushed up again, took her plate, brought her an ice, and made things worse than ever. Manlike, he thought the fast-and-loose plan worked to admiration.

Now privately, Miss Bee cared nothing for lobster and very little for ice; but it felt so good to be noticed and to have something to do, that I think she hardly knew what she had. And had not Mr. Kindred said the ice would "refresh" her? So she ate a little, played with it a little, and heard, nolens-volens, a good deal of talk.

"Why, here is Mr. Kindred!" said one of his Christmas friends. "All on tiptoe for shoulder-straps."

"Mr. Kindred has small occasion to stand on 'tiptoe' for anything," said Miss Lane. "But what have you done with your beautiful class ring? Not lost it?"