Part 26

And it became plain to lynx-eyed Mrs. Congressman, that Magnus soon ceased to be the only grey figure on the horizon. His walks with other girls were borne meekly; and the days when he was on guard called forth less lamentation. In short (in the prettiest sort of way) the cadet fever had claimed our two young Westerners. As how should it not, when they were in such demand? Men did not stand round them to see "what those girls would do next," the poorest sort of a compliment; but came for the real liking and appreciation of the fair womanliness, of which even faulty men have an idea--or an ideal. Then fresh common sense is very pleasant when you find it; and if Rose was thought too sensible by some--or too sedate, Violet was as full of fun and frolic as any young, unspoiled nature ought to be; so they set each other off. But the fun was not pointed with slang, nor did the frolic show out in shrieks of laughter, or in familiar ways. It never occurred to either of them that it was witty to say "Get out!" or ladylike to beg for buttons and buckles. Or interesting, to give a kiss to some man who was unmannerly enough to ask it. But nobody dared that of them.

Mrs. Ironwood's "sleepy" eyes saw all these things; saw also, by degrees, some others. She could tell, to a time, how often Cadet-Captain Trueman had walked with Violet, as also that Violet seemed quite unconscious that he came oftener than other men.

"Great pity!" said Mrs. Ironwood in her heart, waving her fan there on the hotel piazza. "He's the best fellow living--and she's the girl of girls for him. But she hasn't a sou--and _he_ hasn't; it would never do. I did try to keep Rose in the way--but my! he'd get round a standing army. Study, drills, examination, don't head him off one bit. A fine piece of three weeks' work! And in ten days more he graduates, and there's an end."

And just at that very time, this is what was going on among the casemates at Fort Putnam.

"Do you think you could live on a second lieutenant's pay?" Trueman was saying. "It is not much, you know--but then at first we should probably be stationed at some small one-company post, where it would not be needful to make a show."

"I have never lived where it was needful, or possible, to make a show," said Violet, with a bit of a laugh at the idea of being "stationed" anywhere. "But you know I have had no chance to think of anything yet."

"Yes, of course," said Trueman; "it's all very sudden to you. But the first minute I saw you I knew I had met my fate, and I have done nothing but think, ever since. Thinking out the fairest story that ever came into any man's heart. And I am going so soon. Write home to-night, will you, Miss Violet, and get _leave_ to promise?"

And then with the sound of coming footsteps, the two drew apart a little, and walked decorously down the hill; Trueman screening himself carefully with Violet's blue parasol from the sun without, and she conscious only of a strange new sunlight within.

Rose, meanwhile, was having a different sort of talk with Mr. Bouché; an American, despite his French name.

He was a handsome fellow, stood well up in his class, and was proficient in more than West Point learning; but as much adrift as any unpiloted boat in all matters of faith, and some of practice. Why he sought out Rose Kindred (as he had done persistently from the day she came) it would be hard to tell, unless from that peculiar masculine contrariness which, as Mrs. Ironwood phrased it, "makes Arctic men always swear by the South Pole."

It was Mr. Bouché's special delight to get Rose away from everyone else, find her a splendid seat in some leafy nook, throw himself down on the grass where he must needs look up and so could properly gaze into her face, and then draw her into an argument. I do not know that Rose was more wedded to her opinions than other women, but she knew what she believed, which they do not all. And when the point was of importance she could fight, and fight well; zeal and love of the truth holding their own fearlessly against more polished weapons. Even as did the old "Queen's Arm" in the hand of one of her ancestors at Concord.

On this particular afternoon, every place seemed taken. Gee's Point, of course, but also the seat by the river edge, and the almost unscalable rocks, and the grey stones that lie about the way to Battery Knox.

"Never mind," Rose said. "I am not tired. I would just as leave walk."

"Tired! You? No," said Mr. Bouché; "you are the most rested creature that ever lived. But I am a lazy fellow, and I want a comfortable place, where you can lecture me."

"Upon your laziness?"

"Upon what you will. I need it all round."

"There will not be time for an all-round lecture before parade."

"Bother parade!" said Mr. Bouché. "Why need you remind a fellow of parade, just when he's happy? Here--come this way. Now we can dive through these bushes--look out for your dress, Miss Rose!--and we can sit on the rock and be out of the way of all the spoons. And Catkins himself couldn't find us."

Laughing at him, guarding her dress, following through the tangle like a true fresh-air girl, Rose presently forgot everything in the loveliness that was all about. Behind them, trees and bushes were both shade and screen; but in front there was only rock, river, and hill. The grey ledge on which they stood took a sudden dip almost at their feet, and went down, down, sheer and smooth, with little to break the line till it ended in a low fringe of riverside bushes. And the stream itself, curling rapidly round Gee's Point, went in full flow through the broadening channel towards Anthony's Nose and the "Race." One or two sailing vessels beat up against the breeze; from under the fringe of bushes came the measured dip of oars. The east-side hills, with their wavy outline, caught the full glory of the sinking sun.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Rose cried.

"Yes!" said Mr. Bouché, who had been eyeing the girl much as she studied the landscape; "just what I was thinking."

"It is like nothing I ever saw anywhere else," said Rose.

"Nor I," assented her companion.

"You see, I have never been just here before," said Rose, turning at the somewhat peculiar tone of voice. "Have you?"

"I am not sure--that I have," said Mr. Bouché, considering with himself whether certain sensations in the region of his heart could possibly (in a cadet of such wide experience) mean something new. "It rather seems to me not. What are you going to lecture me about, Miss Rose?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, yes, you are!" cried Bouché, rousing up. "That's not fair. It is in the bond that you are to lecture."

"Who signed the bond?"

"I--for self and partner," said Bouché audaciously.

"'Himself and he,'" said Rose, quoting Cowper.

"Now, that is truly unkind," said Mr. Bouché, with an injured air; "and therefore not like you, Miss Rose. And people should always speak in character. I am surprised at you. Do you believe that I never think of anybody but myself?"

"Oh, I suppose when you are speaking to me, you must be thinking of me a little," said Rose, a faint tinge coming into her cheeks as she made the admission. "Look at that eagle flying across the river."

"Let him fly--" said Bouché. "You really suppose I think of you 'a little,' then? When it's week days and Sundays, Saturdays and common days. When the reveille gun has grown sweet to my ear, because----"

"Now hush!" Rose interrupted him. "That is a good place to stop. Nothing ever yet made the reveille gun sound sweet to a cadet."

"Other cadets."

"Well, you are just another cadet," said Rose.

Bouché burst into a laugh, in spite of his efforts to look tragic.

"There," he said; "she's making fun of me. It's all up. I am only 'just another cadet.' One more in her train. Only so many additional bell buttons, and a pair of chevrons thrown in."

"Who is the professor of nonsense here?" Rose demanded. "I never saw such proficients as you cadets are, in all my life. Have you had forty pages to learn? and are you trying them off on me? Very well recited, Mr. Bouché."

"It isn't at all. You are getting off grinds on me the whole time, and that's not fair. I should think conscientious scruples would hinder you."

"Conscientious scruples?"

"Yes," said Bouché. "The way you throw away opportunities tries even my conscience. You see, Miss Rose, _I_ never had folks to stand round me and keep me straight. I've been a Topsy boy, all my life."

"Topsy-turvy?" suggested Rose.

Bouché drew a deep sigh.

"There it goes again," he said; "I shall have to take it, I suppose. But I guess it's true. And now, when somebody has a chance to set me right, she don't do it."

"What could she do?" Rose asked, seriously now.

"For one thing, she could take a long, long walk with me on Sunday. Keep me out of mischief the whole afternoon."

"You mistake, Mr. Bouché," said Rose, turning her clear, grave eyes upon him. "Getting into mischief one's self, never helps anybody else out."

"How would you get in?" Bouché said eagerly. "I'd max it on care of you."

"Ah, yes, I do not doubt. But--I was not brought up so," Rose said, hesitating over her words. "At home, Sunday is such a special, set-apart, happy day. We never take it for common things."

"It would be a very special and happy day for me, if you would take the walk," said Bouché. "Of course _you_ would count it 'common' doings to go with me, any day."

"It is not fair to twist my words," said Rose, looking troubled.

"Then if it would be _un_common, you can go. You are throwing down opportunities, Miss Rose. I'll take you to some remote, far-wilderness corner, and you shall preach to me till the drum beats. I'm as meek as skim-milk on Sunday. Why, if you only tell me to take my cap and go to chapel, I shall do it."

"But you have to do that."

"You'd better believe I wouldn't be there else," said Bouché. "But I'll listen to you a quarter longer than we give the chaplain."

"I do not think you will--for I shall not speak, on Sunday," said Rose.

"Not speak! Turning into 'a sweet, silent Carthusian,' and thinking up hard things to say to me on Monday."

Rose did not at once answer.

"Mr. Bouché," she said, "I think you make a great mistake about the chapel."

"It's the biggest-sized mistake to make me go there."

"But if you went willingly, you would forget all about being made to go," said Rose.

How Bouché laughed! Rose coloured a little, but stood her ground.

"I mean," she said, "the bonds you strive against are the ones that press hard."

"Good beginning," said the cadet, controlling himself. "Go on, Miss Rose."

"Well," she said, "then you need not have laughed at me quite so much. But somebody says, there are two ends to a sermon."

"Only one here," said Bouché, "and that's at the beginning."

"Two ends," Rose went on steadily; "the human and the Divine, the text and the preacher. If you begin with the preacher, one man may not like him, and another one may----"

"That man hasn't reported yet," Bouché interrupted her.

"And it would be just the same," Rose said, "if an angel came and preached to you. Some men would be sure to criticise him, and study the length of his wings."

"Wishing he'd use 'em to fly away with; that would be me, every time--unless he wore your bonnet."

"So the best speaker would not please you all," Rose concluded. "But if you would begin with the text, you could not dispute that authority, nor question that style. You would not _dare_ to criticise it. And if you were studying the text all the way through, no sermon could seem dull, because it would have such living light upon it, from the Lord's own living words."

There was such a light and glow on the girl's own face, that Mr. Bouché gazed at her with evident admiration.

"All depends," he said. "Give me my particular angel for the preacher, and the text may go."

"Mr. Bouché," said Rose, rising up, "I am sure I heard a drum."

"You can always hear a drum here, any time of day or night."

"Not that drum; listen!"

"Happy drum to be listened to."

"But seriously, we must walk on; you will be late."

"'One private absent.' Hard on the Com. But it's not imminent yet, Miss Rose."

"Why, you do not look!" said Rose. "See how the shadow lies on the river. Please go! Just run on; never mind me."

"Never mind you!" said Bouché, taking leisurely steps at her side. "Not if I know it."

"Mr. Bouché, you will be late."

"Like enough. The first sergeant of D Company will tell it with his hand on his heart, regretfully adding: ''Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true.' And old Powder Flask will jump for joy in his regulation shoes."

"What for?"

"The chance of skinning me for the ninety-ninth time this week."

"Well, I'll not be responsible for his joy," said Rose. "Good-bye!" And as they came to one of the many cross-paths that led towards the plain, Rose suddenly turned up the ascent, running so lightly and easily that it was almost as pretty to see as the regular double-time. Bouché stood open-eyed for a second, and then came up with her, fuming.

"Now this is atrocious, preposterous, unheard of!" he said. "I don't care a button for a 'late.'"

"Well, you should," said Rose, laughing round at him, keeping her pace and her breath admirably. "And this might turn into a cold absence. You ought to care. Magnus says discipline counts. There's a different sort of text for you."

"I vow!" said Bouché. "Don't you give me any of _his_ wise sayings, or I'll punch his head when I get back to barracks, the first thing."

"Not the _first_," said Rose with a gay laugh, as they reached the edge of the open, "Look! there goes the band. Run, Mr. Bouché!"

"As if I hadn't been running!" said Bouché, much aggrieved. "Miss Rose, I'll owe you one better for this."

And then, run he did.

L

FAIRYLAND

Their shields before their breasts, forth at once they go, Their lances in the rest levelled fair and low; Their banners and their crests waving in a row.

--FRERE.

The first week in June at West Point is such an old story that I had best not say much about it here. The (generally) perfect weather, the stirring drills, the crowd of lookers-on, with the sort of jail delivery from study hours and usual restrictions. The cadets come out and sun themselves like hibernated bees, or bears, with an unlimited taste for honey. "Best" dresses sweep the ground, "best" bonnets brave the wind; only the serene blue sky looks down unmoved at the show and frolic and madcap doings of the people. It is a little older than they.

The furlough men are wild with joy and expectation; the plebs have grown two inches since May. Second classmen are sporting imaginary chevrons (the nearest some of them will come to it); and the almost graduates walk at ease, kings in their own right. Bewitching damsels repeat the question, "O, where do you expect to be stationed?" But alas, the reply is not always, "Anywhere--with you!" That might have been in yearling camp; but things have changed; cadet limits are down; and Choice opens its eyes and waits.

In fact, there is need of some sober sense just now. For with the looming up of Fort Grant or Custer; Barrancas, Camp Assiniboine, or San Carlos: comes also the question of comforts and climates. These delicate creatures can walk all day and dance all night in West Point air. But what will their high heels do at Huachuca? and how will their fair cheeks stand the heat at Eagle Pass? Are they brave to be left with only soldier attendants when the young lieutenant is ordered off on a scout after Indians? Can they make bread, where the baker does not come round? and keep their sweet patience when some "ranking" new arrival swoops down upon their pretty quarters, and bids them move? Or again, what if the modest pay of a second-lieutenant should not comport with twenty-dollar bonnets?

Such questions go for little, when it's "a girl I have known for fifteen years"; but they press rather hard upon last week's acquaintance. No wonder many a face in the class looks thoughtful. And no wonder, either, that there are so many last leave-taking walks, for just the fair outlines and the grand old river, near and among which the men have won their shoulder-straps.

Among all the unwonted eyes that ever saw June come over West Point, none could get more delight than did Cadet Kindred's two young sisters. The mere shining out of the whole post in white trousers was an event. And the guns that greeted the Board of Visitors were, to the full, as imposing, as the various "planks" in that respected body. The girls watched every point of the welcoming review, and then studied the chosen guests as they trooped into the "big house" reception. But better than chicken salad indoors, was the music discoursed by the band in the pretty grounds outside. It may be said, however, that Violet did not fail to see Mr. Trueman, in sash and plume, go up the steps with the rest of the graduating class, and to think for one brief moment that it might be pleasant to go there too.

Only parade that night, but a wonderful walk after supper; and next day, and every day for ten more, a series of varied pleasures.

The examinations in the library were positively awe-inspiring; such battle plans, such hieroglyphics. There was some trembling of heart the first time they saw Magnus under fire; but he so plainly knew what he was about, that fear soon passed into rejoicing. And when Mr. Clinker was set to read Spanish, and the story (as translated) sounded unutterably ridiculous, Mrs. Ironwood declared that her two girls behaved better than she did.

Something of this in the morning; at night a concert; in the afternoon a drill. Perhaps on the cavalry plain with the ear-tearing racket of the Light Battery; where the guns were sometimes pointed at the ladies, and the ladies cried out, and stopped their ears, and ran away; and the hills sent back the thunder, and the descending sun half glorified the clouds of dust. Or maybe they went down by the river, and saw Mr. Trueman and a throng of unknown men build the pontoon bridge, themselves sitting on the grass in a blaze of sunshine, which the north wind softened down. With gay dresses on every side, and grey-and-white men standing behind them, or down on the grass too. Sugar-plums in many hands, the perfume of flirtation in all the air; and certainly their own attendant cavaliers were well disposed for both these soft delectations. But if Rose looked round, it was generally to put some intelligent question, which Bouché could only answer in kind; and Violet's bright eyes were too eagerly watching what Mr. True did with his boat, to heed what Randolph whispered about _them_.

How skilfully those huge grey pontoons swung into line; how stirring was the sounding tramp of the plank-bearers; how curiously they locked arms going back, and how very charming was the walk over that strange bridge when it was done.

Another day came skirmish drill, with the grey files in all sorts of varied action; the men scattered over the plain as a sower casts his seed. Speeding down in the hollow, dashing up the ridge, disappearing behind the trees, and firing straight at the pretty spectators. In those days, the short midway rest was all right for visiting; and so, when the other men dropped down on the grass, Magnus and Mr. Trueman and quite a little crowd came over to the seats, cap in hand. Smoky, and dusty, and hot--and charming--for a few minutes of lively talk. To the begrimed warriors every girl looked perfectly resplendent, in her fresh summer dress.

Then, as the drill went on, and the privates came down on one knee to fire, or crouched down, or lay at length, with the cadet officers standing motionless behind them; what terribly exposed positions the chevrons seemed to have! What a mark for the enemy's guns was each straight figure, casting its motionless shadow across the sunlit grass. Bullets might whistle over the men on the ground--but for these! It was all too real; and the young sisters were glad when those on the ground sprang up, and leaders and men were merged in an equality of danger.

One night there was the noisy, vivid, weird mortar drill; touched up with talk, flitting changes of place, comments, explanations, and fairyland bursts of red fire. What a night that was! The roar of the guns, the soft-spoken words; the flash-illumined smoke, the dark figures behind the "footlights" on the battery; the motley human mass which the crimson fire caught in its red glow.

Less picturesque, but more breathless in interest, was the cavalry drill on the plain and the grand charge.

In happy ignorance that surgeons and their attendants were in watchful waiting, the two girls found the whole thing just magnificent, and caught no hint of danger, even from other people's outcries. There was one lady in particular, handsome, well-dressed, and knowing everybody, whose son was in the drill, and whose fears were many and public. In the midst of the most harmless evolutions she was, as she phrased it, "on thorns"; and she danced about as if it were true.

Up on a seat to see better; down again that she might not see at all; with little cries and shrieks and groans of fright or expostulation--it was droll enough. Rose thought she would watch her when the charge really came,--and forgot her as July forgets December.

There had been a few minutes of seeming quiet, the squad all down by the library; but anyone who looked keenly could see this man examining his bridle, and that one tightening the girth. You could see them looking to their stirrups, or rising a little in the saddle to get a better seat. Then they began to move forward, slowly at first, then quicker, till the word was given:

"Charge!" and horses and men came tearing along like a Kansas cyclone upon the resounding road.

In some of the quieter moments before the charge, Rose and Violet had picked out two or three men they knew, noting their horses (they were not all dark then); and now, even in that dusty whirlwind, the grey and the black could be seen and followed. And--yes, certainly--Mr. Trueman's horse has leaped the Hotel fence, and the plucky rider puts him at it again, and comes bounding back. And Mr. Clinker's steed has swerved at the crossroad and gone dashing along towards Trophy Point, for freedom and Highland Falls. However, he missed in both, and everything came out right, and nobody was hurt; and the drill was pronounced in every way first-class. But for days after, when Violet shut her eyes, she seemed to see the flashing sabres, and hear again the ringing shout; and to watch that particular grey horse as he leaped the hedge.

Then came graduation; and Violet had the first sight of Mr. Trueman's diploma, as soon as he could step aside and show it. And Magnus was made first captain, and Mr. Bouché shone forth as adjutant; and even Mr. McLean found his arm adorned with three bright bars, to his own astonishment.

"All owing to Kin," he confided to the two sisters. "If he hadn't pinched me black and blue every day since Christmas, I should be on my way back to Kansas, to hoe potatoes for the rest of my life."

It may be said, in passing, that Mr. Trueman lingered at the post for a few days in "cits," and finally departed with a permit to show himself in the Western home, and plead his own cause there.

Mrs. Ironwood lingered, too, even longer, to let her charge have a taste of the pretty concerts and guard-mounting in camp; and then the girls packed their trunk, and saw the hills fade away in a mist that was all in their own eyes.

LI

THE HOME-STRETCH