GIRLS

Rien de trop est un point Dont on parle sans cesse, et qu'on

observe point.

--LA FONTAINE.

So Miss Dangleum failed for that time. But "To-morrow is also a day,"

says the proverb. And it is not in human nature to be always insensible

to blandishments. Mr. Kindred found himself scanning his wonderful eyes

in the small glass quite oftener than was needed. He could also pick

out Miss Dangleum's red parasol clear across the plain from all its

compeers; and knew at least half of Miss Beguile's fans by experience.

She declared that he had broken a quarter of them, but this statement

is plainly incorrect.

The Point filled up to crowding as the encampment neared its close, and

introductions, walks, picnics, were multiplied, and every cadet who

liked the fun could have enough of it.

Magnus Kindred, for one, had about all he could manage, Rig's favourite

cousin was always on his hands when Rig himself was on guard or in

confinement. This happened pretty often, and as Rig was his "wife"

Magnus could not object. Chapman's sister was often turned over to him

because Chapman's best girl was also at the Point.

Then there was every now and then some plain, unnoticed girl whom

Magnus in his chivalry would look after and take out, giving her a

royal good time. There were guests at some of the houses where the

young cadet had been made welcome, and he must help amuse them. And

finally (for my hero was every inch a man), there were wits and

beauties with whom he liked to stand at least as well as the best. It

was all very enticing, and he was so lonely when his mother had gone

that petting of any sort felt good.

So that last part of August was one grand whirl, in which common sense

and right ways got drawn in and danced a breakdown. At least that

was what Cadet Kindred said of it himself in his calmer moments. For

"Kindred--late at roll-call," "Kindred--absent at supper," had been

read out too often from the blue list after parade.

Magnus was on guard the last night but one of Camp Golightly, and

between reliefs took time to foot up his accounts. What had he to

show for those weeks since his mother went away? Or (excepting only

her visit) for the whole of "Yearling Camp"? Not much, he thought to

himself with a curl of his lip. The little pleasure he had given was

easy and cheap; the pleasure he had had--well, it did not look very

bright to him now. Not very satisfactory.

It seemed rather small business to take all the sweets he could get:

compliments, flattery, and boodle, from girls to whom he neither would,

could, nor should, give more in return than a walk or two; perhaps only

the convenient phrase:

"Thanks, awfully."

And that very phrase was his mother's aversion.

And it was no end mean, to laugh at a thing and then afterwards score

it sharply. Was he still "training with the wrong crowd"--only of girls

this time?

Then he changed his ground and came up on the other side. How far had

he been a power for good in all those weeks? How much stronger or purer

had any company been for his presence? Who had learned to think sweeter

things of religion for his glad life? Whose doubts had weakened in the

light of his faith? Was anyone more ready to swear fealty to Christ

for _his_ constant witnessing to the blessedness of the service? Nay,

Cadet Kindred knew, now that he took time to think, what had ailed some

of the merrymaking. It jarred his conscience. And sometimes he had felt

it at the time.

That Sunday afternoon, when he had walked about with Miss Dangleum, and

smiled at her vapid infidelities, the twinge had been so sharp, as he

thought of his mother in the old porch at home, drawing strength and

knowledge from her open Bible, that he never did _that_ thing again.

But he had laughed at Miss Beguile's jests about church and church

service, and the very next day, in chapel, had taken the sugar plums

she offered under cover of her fan.

He had been indignant when some girl, displeased with the sermon, shook

her fist at the preacher then and there. But perhaps she had never been

taught any better--and what had been his own criticisms of that very

sermon? Just as open as he dared make them.

Cadet Kindred felt rather sick of himself, on the whole.

"That's a large place in which to keep your colours!" he said, looking

down into his grey sleeve.

In some things he had stood firm. The first brandy snap he got hold of

at Mrs. Beguile's picnic went over the cliffs at Fort Putnam, to the

great excitement of a nest of young squirrels. And the first bonbon

drugged with rum followed: first, and last.

"But, easy and cheap!" he repeated to himself. "I was not going to be

tricked into taking that stuff. I had said I wouldn't."

What else had he "said"?

Coming off next morning with O. G. P., Magnus got leave to go to the

trunkroom, and hunted out a little copy of the Church covenant which he

knew his mother had packed in with his other things. Then, under one of

the shadowing trees of Fort Clinton, he lay on the grass and read it

over.

"Unto Him, the Lord, you do now give yourself away, in a covenant never

to be revoked, to be His willing servant forever."

Was it like a good servant to listen to slighting talk about his

Master's laws? To be silent when the Name that is above every name was

lightly spoken? Could he not rise and go from any company? How long

would he be quiet if his mother's name was handled so? He did always

wince, he was glad to remember, but who had been the wiser?

"Not even a poor little storm flag!" he said bitterly to himself. "And

these are but catspaws that come to me."

Magnus turned over on his elbow, and looked across to the flagstaff,

where the colours were having a lively time in the breeze; looked and

looked, his eyes growing very grave, his lips firm.

"You're worth a half hundred of me, old comrade," he said, with a

reverent wave of his cap. What was that his mother had said in her last

letter?

"Thou, therefore, my son, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus

Christ." Turning back after a while to his former position, Magnus

found himself face to face with a pile of muslin and lace, of which

Miss Saucy was the fair centre. She stood a little away, gazing

pensively at him, her white kids clasped in what might be either

entreaty or dismay.

"Oh, there's nothing the matter, is there?" she said. "I was _so_

afraid you'd had a sunstroke, or something. And you know you promised

me a walk this morning."

"Did I?"

"Yes, and it's very rude of you to forget it."

"Well, it is not too late for the walk," said Magnus, slipping the

little book up his sleeve, and putting himself by the young lady's

side. "Which way?"

"Round the plain. I mustn't get out of sight, because I have to walk

with Mr. Chapman at twelve."

"'Have to' expresses it."

"You shan't make fun of him," said Miss Saucy. "Of course, he's not

some people,--but then he never forgets his walks, which some people

do. What was that book you were studying?"

"Regulations."

"Blue book?"

"No, white."

"Then it was the black one. Boning discipline! I don't believe it. Not

you."

Magnus bowed.

"Let me see, then," she said. "I know it's just some old thing with a

love letter inside. Give it to me!"

Magnus drew out the little book and handed it over, but Miss Saucy was

a very bewildered girl indeed, as she turned the pages.

"_What?_" she said. "I can't make head or tail of this thing. What sort

of stuff is it, anyhow?"

"Stuff that will wear."

"It'll wear you--wear you out," said Miss Saucy. "You are at least two

years older than you were last night. Oh, I don't know anything about

religion, except the outside of course, don't you know; but that's

enough. So the Chaplain has given you the points, and you're going to

pose; Cadet Kindred, the serious man. Well, it'll be a variety. Come,

let's go; I'll be the first to have a walk with him, anyhow. Will

this do-o-o?" said the girl, drawling out her words, and bringing the

corners of her little mouth as far down as they would go. "Mr. Kindred,

what will be a profitable subject for us to discuss, as we take our

solemn way under the brooding trees that shadow the path once called

Flirtation? The low state of grace in the Corps, and what to do about

it? Then when we've settled that we might turn our brilliant light upon

the girls and go for them."

"You said you wanted to walk on the plain," Magnus answered her.

"Plain's too gay. Do you think, Mr. Kindred, you could lend me your

lovely book just till to-morrow? It might do me no end of good. And you

know how much I need it."

"The book would do you no good at all," said Magnus, trying to keep

cool. "If that is what you want, you had better read your own Bible."

"Haven't one to my name,--so there!" said Miss Saucy. "Oh, I never dare

read the Bible, for fear of what I might find. I suppose you see me

there quite often, all done up in black, and labelled like old letters.

'To be----'"

"Stop!" Magnus said, so sharply and suddenly that Miss Saucy did stop

for sheer amazement.

"Well, I vow!" she said. "I wonder what right you have to speak to me

so, Mr. Cadet Kindred."

"No right at all," said Magnus. "Only, if you play with Bible words,

you will cut your own fingers; and I'm not going to stand by and see

you do it. That is all. So if I should leave you and go back to camp,

you'll know why." And Magnus strode on at a pace quite beyond the usual

Flirtation saunter.

"I never--was--so talked to--in all my--many years of existence," said

Miss Saucy, pretending to whimper. "I know I'm an awfully bad girl--and

it's awfully sweet of you to tell me so. Such a nice time, too, when

there's nobody round to take my part. Really looks as if you _cared_,"

added she, with soft intonation. "Don't go so fast, Mr. Kindred,

please! I won't say another word--not half a word. Not if we meet a

procession of snakes. Or my best man with another girl. Or your best

girl with another man."

"You will not meet her," said Magnus. "She is too far away."

"Well, that is abominable," said Miss Saucy, as a turn of the walk

brought them face to face with another couple. "That is awfully,

savagely cruel. Oh, Nina Dangleum! Here is Mr. Kindred telling me he is

engaged to be married! How are we all to live on and smile?"

"Excuse me; I said nothing of the sort," said Magnus.

"Awfully of the sort, I should say," retorted Miss Saucy. "Ought to be,

if you're not. With a faraway girl that hides all the rest of creation."

"Then we are not to congratulate _both_ parties?" said the second man

in grey, Mr. Short.

"Yes, me, by all means--that I'm not the other girl," said Miss

Saucy. "We've been having the awfullest quarrel! I never guessed

Mr. Kindred had such a temper: he always struck me as one of the

sweet-milk division. Like the Zulu's dog, you know, that eat up all the

missionary's Bible and could never fight any--more."

"Naturally," said Magnus.

"Well, the dog didn't die--if that's what you mean," said Miss Saucy.

"Only his popularity."

"What do you know about missionaries?" said Short, with a laugh.

"That's a story made to order."

"It isn't! I guess I can hear things; I've got ears."

"Two pink shells," Mr. Short suggested. Miss Saucy made him a sweeping

courtesy.

"Positively, the first decent word I've had said to me this morning.

Mr. Kindred has been simply savage. But, do you know, Nina," she went

on, half aside, "I think he believes it suits his style. Very fetching,

don't you know. Why his eyes just glowed! If I wasn't so awfully afraid

of him, I vow I'd make him angry every day."

"Nothing left for you two, that I see, but coffee and pistols," said

Short. "I suppose you can shoot, Miss Saucy?"

"I suppose I can't."

"Shall I take the job off your hands?"

"Oh, no use!" said the girl. "Mr. Kindred can't fight. He's the Zulu's

dog."

Magnus coloured; but with a quiet steadiness of face and voice that

held the essence of bravery, he said:

"True, Oh, Miss Saucy! So, as it is to be peace and not war, shall we

walk on?"

And Miss Saucy actually behaved herself, for the rest of the way;

and declared afterwards that she never _had_ known Mr. Kindred so

fascinating.

Late in the afternoon, Rig coming into the tent was much astonished to

find Magnus with his arms on the locker, and his head on his arms.

"Whatever's to pay now?" he said. "Just seen Pretty Newcomb go by with

Carr? I wouldn't mind, Kin! There's several girls left."

"Rig," said Magnus, looking up at him, "if you bring all your brilliant

intellect to bear in September, I'm afraid the Institution will blow

up."

"Couldn't get the old thing started. Well, what is it, then? What

are you at, all by yourself here? We've been having lots of fun in D

Company."

"Good place for it," said Magnus; "your sort."

"What are you about, anyway?"

"Adding up two and two, and trying to make them six."

"Talk of blowing things up!" said Rig; "if _that_ isn't inflation!

You'll find it a quicker job, Kin, to fetch in two more, if time is any

object to you."

"When you want sense," said Magnus, "go straight to the man who hasn't

got any, and he'll give you his whole stock. I'll pit you against the

world. Clear out and curl your hair; I've got something to do."

And Magnus took from his Bible the slip of paper Mr. Upright had given

him a year ago, then turned over to the fourth chapter of the first

epistle of Peter, and put it in there for a mark. But he looked long

and steadily at the staunch words:

"Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed."

After a little Rig came and peered over his shoulder again.

"Hard at it yet?" he said.

"Yes," said Magnus, "and like to be. Just look at this! 'If ye be

reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye.' And I don't feel

happy, worth a cent. I feel just as cross as two sticks."

"But you can't take that as a _command_," said Rig, looking puzzled.

"Folks don't feel happy to order."

"Not a command, no; it merely states the case. How I should feel if the

cause were as dear to me as it ought to be."

"Well, I'd like to know what you're cross about," said Rig gloomily.

"All the girls at your feet, and never twitted with anything by the

Com. If it was me, now! You know how I shone in the blue list the other

night."

Magnus nodded.

"Well, I hadn't really done anything," said Rig; "not worth mentioning,

you know; and so I put in an explanation. And it was disallowed."

"Naturally."

"What do you mean by 'naturally'?"

"The way of the world, or the tactical part of it."

"But I wasn't going to stand it, if it was, you know; and I polished up

my buttons, brushed the top of my head, swept my face, and went to see

the Supe."

"Submitted your explanation to him?"

"Another, Kin, another, with variations. Told him I didn't really know

the act was against rules. Which I didn't, except by hearsay; and

that's not evidence in law."

"Haven't you a copy of the blue book?" demanded Magnus.

"Always sleep with it clasped to my heart, so as to know when to wake

up," said Rig. "But now, Kin, what do you think the Supe did? Passed

right over my innocent face and guileless bearing, my spotless gloves

and inky shoes, and went for me like a Bengal tiger."

"'Mr. McLean,' he said, 'ignorance in your case is no excuse, sir.

You have been reported for breaking almost every rule known to this

Institution. That will do, sir.'"

"And you came away, as usual, sadder and wiser?"

Rig heaved a deep sigh.

"Yes," he said, "'sadder and wiser' will be my motto, Kin, as long as I

stay here."

Magnus laughed and held out his hand.

"I mean to make you better that, this year," he said.