When feelings were young, and the world was new.
--PRINGLE.
There is no need to describe that walk, nor the many that followed it.
Anybody who has been a girl--or had care of a girl--at West Point,
knows without telling; though doubtless the walks vary according to
the girl. But hither and thither, then as now, went Peace and War, in
endless new combinations. Down among the grey rocks and green mosses of
Flirtation, where the tide flowed by as softly as the minutes, and all
the pretty whispers sounded true. Or up on the old fort; green enough
once, but in these days pathetic as well as lovely in its helpless
decline, and where much history might have been talked, and was not.
Kosciusko's garden, Fort Clinton, even the Officer's Row--what tales
they might tell, and are silent.
I must do Mrs. Ironwood the justice to say, that she did not fulfil
her destiny after that night, so far as it involved going to sleep
when she should be on duty. And she did the duty well, as befits long
habit. Always accidentally on hand; keen-eyed, though taking no notice;
interfering when she must, in a way that was wholly pleasant--and
unmanageable. The two girls, so unlearned in the world, could not have
had a more wisely careful friend. Violet never guessed how it was that
she was generally free to walk with Mr. Trueman, nor why Mr. Clinker
always fell to the lot of Mrs. Ironwood herself. "She must be very fond
of him," thought the girls. And Magnus was careful, too, in a way, and
would by no means present everybody he knew to his two young sisters.
So within that twofold invisible fence Violet and Rose moved joyously
on, and had--as they wrote home--"the very loveliest time that girls
could."
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.
[Illustration: FLIRTATION]
"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