With whom doth Time gallop withal?
--SHAKESPEARE.
Alas. Time did not slacken his pace for those two people. After that
very first day, when Mrs. Kindred really took in the astounding fact
that she was _there_, she began to count almost the seconds as they
ticked away, and grudged even those spent in sleep.
She would sit far on into the night, looking over from her window to
where her boy's tent rose up sharp and white in the moonshine; and with
the first drum-beat in the morning was at her post, sending off her
heart and her blessing to that grey line where Magnus stood. If he was
on guard she watched for glimpses of his tall figure as he went up and
down, posting reliefs, and in a sort loved the whole white battalion
that marched away to dinner because one particular white helmet rested
on his head. And never was there a more devoted frequenter of the camp,
as she waited there on the visitors' seats for his moments of leisure,
happy between whiles that he was at least nearby.
Then she steadied her nerves to bear the sharp reports in the Light
Battery drill, and watched manœuvres and evolutions as eagerly as
if she understood them all. How stately Magnus looked in his various
trappings; how nimbly he tumbled in and out of the caissons. And when
the sergeant shouted out at parade:
"Company A, one corporal absent!"--how thankful that particular mother
was that it could not possibly be _her_ son.
It was astonishing to see such honours and cares resting upon his young
head; drilling plebs, posting sentinels; no wonder he had changed.
Was the change in him all for the better? The mother could not quite
tell. When Magnus was with her that joy swept everything else away; but
sometimes, as she sat alone, her thoughts worked hard, and many things
came in to tangle and perplex them.
Loitering about the camp in this way, and never missing a formation,
Mrs. Kindred also could not miss a good deal else. The Point was
not crowded; but the summer girl--and the summer girl's supposed
chaperon--were in sufficient force; and as young people nowadays think
their words worth hearing, Mrs. Kindred did not need to strain her ears
nor give undue attention to know much that was said and done.
It was a glimpse into a life unguessed before. Her own had been simple,
earnest, and useful, from her youth up. The three girls at home were as
merry as crickets, and overflowing with fun and frolic; but the cricket
fun--if fun it be--was not more guileless and true-hearted than theirs.
But now, sitting under the trees and watching her boy from a distance,
Mrs. Kindred would sometimes hear, close at hand, some word or
sentiment that made her start and look round, with a great wish that
the girl's mother were there; and behold, quite often she _was_. Then
this mother would get up and change her seat.
Small use. Near the new place sat a tall young lady in tennis rig set
free, while her waist was drawn in until playing must have been hard
work. A game had been on, for Miss Viny's cheeks were flushed, and she
still brandished her racket. She was talking over her shoulder to a
semi-young officer.
"I think you have a great deal too much to do with Captain Chose, Miss
Viny," said this gentleman. "You know he is in a very peculiar position
with regard to his wife."
And the handsome girl, flashing round at him her daring eyes, made
answer:
"That only makes him the more interesting!"
Mrs. Kindred shivered slightly, and once more changed her seat.
And _now_ she got among a bevy of girls who were talking of Magnus;
they fluttered in and settled down all around her, too eager over their
subject to know or care who heard their talk.
"I'll get hold of him somehow. I'm bound to do it," said a dark girl in
very extreme costume. "I told you I would, and I will."
"Not worth the bother," said a plump little damsel in pink. "There are
plenty more."
"Not plenty with eyes like his; there's not such another pair in the
Corps. They're just heavenly."
"Yes, aren't they?" said the plump girl. "When he looks at you it makes
you feel queer all over."
"I was afraid you were going to say, all through," said Miss Beguile;
"and you know there isn't any 'all through' to you, Kitten."
"Now I call that _too_ bad," said the Kitten. "When I am universally
known to be all heart."
"Good you are," said Miss Saucy, "for you give everyone a piece and
the supply might fail. But there's a good deal of you, such as it is,
Kitten. You'll turn the three F's, if you live long enough."
"_Some_ people don't think there's too much of me," said the Kitten,
pouting.
"About half the Corps, I should judge. Now I believe in one grand
master passion, don't you know. I think it's dear."
"It's a passion for a master--if you're in love with Mr. Kindred," said
a fourth girl. "He'll manage you, Bessie. Make you behave."
If anybody had had time to notice the quiet little mother sitting
there, he would have seen a very perceptible start, and a pair of eyes
as indignant as such tender eyes could be. _Those_ girls after her
young magnate? Mrs. Kindred was fit to go that moment to headquarters
and demand a cordon of red tape to surround her boy. But she could do
nothing; could not speak to the girls, could not (alas) even shake
them. Then she seemed to remember seeing him bow to these very ones;
and with a certain dress-coat air, which now Mrs. Kindred marked as one
of the new things about Magnus that disturbed her.
What if Cherry had seen and heard it all? And suddenly Mrs. Kindred
knew why it was Cherry she thought of, and not Rose or Violet.
Here was a new and difficult complication. Yes, of course, it was all
natural, the mother felt, and plain enough now she thought of it.
Whether Cherry herself yet knew, or not, she _would_, just as soon as
Magnus took a fancy to somebody else. Could he do that, after having
once known her? Mrs. Kindred waited till the next relief went on, and
Magnus within the guard tent was quite out of sight, and then went to
her room to think and to pray.
Should she talk to Magnus?--no; skating is generally safer than
navigation in broken ice. And the next day but one she was to go home.
No further sight of her boy could be hoped for that night, and Mrs.
Kindred shut herself in and watched the silent camp long after the
sweet "curfew" bugle had cried to every light:
"Put it out! Put it out! Put it out!"