"You are in danger," Upright went on. "You are taking risks no wise man
will shoulder."
"What have I done, sir?" Magnus demanded, stiffening slightly.
"Nothing special, to my knowledge," said the first captain, "But I see
you in slippery places, where sooner or later a man must go down. And
the mud often sticks for a good while to come, even after--and even
if--he picks himself up and gets away."
"I don't see, sir," Magnus began--"what risks are you talking of, Mr.
Upright?"
"The risk of being false to yourself, and to your Christian pledge
and name; the risk of (practically) forgetting your mother and your
mother's words."
But now Magnus burst forth.
"Forgetting my mother!" he said. Then checking himself:
"Oh, well, sir, that proves you never saw her, Mr. Upright."
Upright laughed, and his eyes shone.
"Good for you!" he said heartily. "But, Mr. Kindred, you are training
with the wrong crowd."
And now Magnus coloured, and his eyes went down. Upright watched him
for a moment in silence; then he took up a slip of paper, and held it
out.
"Here is a reminding text I wrote off for you," he said. "Take it with
you up and down the post. 'He setteth a print on the heels of my feet.'
That will do, sir," and Magnus saluted, and whirled away.
"Might be the Com. himself, for the style he talks!" he grumbled, under
his breath. But all the same, the words sank in. They were too true to
miss a hearing, on the one side, and had been too kindly spoken to
lose it, on the other. Yes, he was training with the wrong crowd, there
was no doubt of that.
Magnus winced under the confession. There was no one he so little liked
to find fault with as himself, and to court-martial Cadet Kindred, on
his own knowledge and belief, was extremely unpleasant.
But the finding of the Court is rarely severe in such cases; and Magnus
presently let himself off with a few admonitions to be more careful. He
went to prayer-meeting regularly, boned discipline a little, and kept
away from that crowd (what he called) "all he could."
Then they broke camp, and marched into barracks, and that was a help,
for work began at a rate that left scant time for lawless play. Magnus
Kindred had studied before, studied hard, but never with the exactness
of drill and discipline and pressure that now filled every day.
Breakfast, recitation, study, dinner, study, recitation, drill; then
dress parade, supper, and study. Some of the plebs resigned and went
home, others talked gloomily of being "found" in January; before which
wintry fear homesickness itself gave way. And again others drew the
buckles of their armour tight, looked well to their stirrups, and went
at the difficulties, lance in rest.
[Illustration: THE BARRACKS IN WINTER]