West Point Colors

But in the Highlands, with here and there a rare exception, August is one of the very loveliest months of all the year. We say of a human face that it is finer after life has given its touches and done somewhat of its fine chiselling, and a little so does the last summer month surpass the two that went before. More sedate than jocund June; far calmer than July with its tempests and fervid heats, the shadows fall differently, the changed lights give you a new insight into things. The days are so exquisite partly because they are shortening; the flowers hurry out in troops. And nowhere in all the year do we have such a succession of wonderful sunset skies as in August. Then the temperature is for the most part perfect; the cool mornings and evenings only the fairer for the midday heat. It is a time when you can sit out, dine out, and well nigh take leave of the house altogether.

One wise thing inexperienced Mrs. Kindred remembered to do. From point to point as the miles rolled by, she sent postals to the girls at home, and one at the outset to Magnus. He knew just when to look for her. And so, when the day came, and dinner was over, Cadet Charlemagne reported his absence at the guard tent, and strolled away to Trophy Point, and seated himself to wait and watch. Too early yet by an hour; but he was restless and could do nothing else.

The day was cloudless now; the noon heats still in the air; the hazy, lazy hum of the locusts thrilled out on every side. Perhaps lazy is not just the word—but there are no inflections; they fight it out on one line, as few tired workers ever can.

A suspicion of real haze hung over Newburgh; the more distant hills looked faint and dreamy. Far up the river a long tow wound silently down, leaving its trail upon the quiet water; nearby a sloop or two went softly on, spreading their white wings to the breeze. There was just enough air stirring to lift and drop, lift and drop, the bunting on the flagstaff.

Magnus sat looking and listening, drawing a deep breath now and then. How long it seemed since he first saw Trophy Point and that flagstaff!—and it was really but fourteen months. He glanced up at the flag, just then shaking out its lovely folds. That had not changed. And he knew his mother had not; she would be just the same blessed person she had always been. But how about himself? and what would she think of him? And now, studying that question, Magnus took out mentally his own private stand of colours and looked at them, matching them with the flag overhead. It hung very still just then; and yet he could see a star here, a touch of the stripes there. Storms might beat it to ribands, but they could not change the colours nor make the flag come down.

"That weak strip of bunting!" thought Magnus, with a certain interlining of words not complimentary to himself. And other words written above his father's grave came quick and clear: "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever."

Magnus stood up and walked slowly along the little path to another point, whence he could see the "Central" road.

"I'm no end glad she's coming!"—so ran his thoughts. "But I just wonder how she'll like her boy? And there she comes!"

For now a puff of white smoke rose up at the mouth of the Breakneck tunnel and then fell into a long, curling line, and began to wind its way rapidly along the curves of the river road.

Magnus watched it, jumped on the seat to see it better still, and then tossed his cap into the air like any boy let out of school.

"Hurrah, old flag!" he cried; "there she comes! Now you'll see somebody worth looking at."

The white line rushed on, paused at Cold Spring, whirled along over the north bay and hid itself in the green Island woods, while Magnus, again waving his cap and this time so recklessly that it was near going down the hill, hurried away to Battery Knox, ran up on the green parapet, and stood to watch. The engine came puffing over the south bay as if the fate of the nation hung on its speed, dived into the Garrisons tunnel and slowed up.

How long it stayed!

"Just to put off mother and her little trunk!" thought Magnus, laughing to himself, and then getting such dim eyes that he could not see a thing. But he felt as if he could hug even the trunk.

And now, puff, puff, the train slowly moved away from the station, and the little ferryboat rang her bell. Of course, his mother was there, in the small, dark throng that came down to the river, and of course he must therefore really see her, but—Oh! it was too tantalising! I think at that minute Magnus would have given anything (except furlough) for a good glass.

The boat was off, steering across the river in a pretty curve to suit the tide; the smooth water turning back in two long lines of wrinkles in her wake.

Magnus leaped down from the parapet and was speeding away up the path at a great rate when there came a hail:

"Mr. Kin—dred!"

Magnus paused to see.

Clustered about the pathetic white column that looking calmly down on the silent river, tells in such vivid fashion its terrible tale of struggle and death, were three or four very summery looking girls: Miss Fashion, Miss Dangleum, and another whom Magnus did not know.

"Do come here, Mr. Kindred," pleaded Miss Dangleum.

Well, a cadet is nothing if he is not a squire of distressed damsels. Magnus turned and jumped down to where they stood.

"What's the matter?" he said; "has a fan gone down the hill? or is a parasol in trouble?"

"There, isn't that just like you!" said Miss Fashion. "No, nothing so serious as that."

"Miss Beguile has come," said Miss Dangleum, "and she asked you down to a private view of her eyes."

"Oh, Nina!" said Miss Beguile, in soft expostulation.

"We also wanted her to see yours," said Miss Nina daringly. "She doesn't believe cadets have any under those caps."

Magnus doffed his own particular cap, as in duty bound, but the view Miss Beguile got of his eyes was very short and unsatisfactory.

"Now find us a nice seat," said Miss Dangleum. "We've got lots of boodle."

"Certainly—at any other time," began Magnus, "but now——"

"You don't mean to say you've got a previous?" cried the girls.

"Very previous, indeed. I am just going to meet my mother."

"Your mother?" said Miss Beguile with the sweetest air of interest. "How charming!"

"Dear me, where does she come from?" drawled Miss Fashion.

But now Mr. Kindred's eyes came to the front and declared themselves.

"She comes from home," he said. "Excuse me, I am late"; and with another touch of his cap Magnus sprang away up the path about as fast as a man could go and not run.

"He has magnificent eyes," said Miss Beguile.

"Yes, but no use," said Miss Dangleum. "I cannot bring that man to terms, do what I will."

"Flinty, is he?" said Miss Beguile. "Well, I mean to get hold of him, girls, I give you notice. He's the sort of man I like."

"Is there any sort you don't like, Bessie?" said Miss Fashion.

"Oh, it's always great fun to have men round, no matter what sort they are," confessed her friend. "But the unapproachable is my dearest choice, every time."