The two friends roomed together. A big room, it seemed to Magnus, the two sides of which had each quite a retired privacy of its own. Mr. Wayne, writing letters under the gaslight, noted the boy's neat, orderly ways in all his preparations for bed. Magnus had sat reading his own private chapter first, not with haste, but with interest, and then they had had prayers together. Now, the boy knelt quietly by his own special bed, his face upon his arms, and once or twice there came a sound that brought the quick drops to Mr. Wayne's own eyes. But then Magnus called out his "Good-night, sir!" in a cheerful, resolved tone, which was all that could be wished. In the morning the two walked up to the Grand Central together. There their ways parted, Mr. Wayne going off on the New Haven road, while Magnus checked his trunk for Garrisons and West Point. "Magnus, what is going to be your dependence at West Point?" said Mr. Wayne, as they stepped along. "Hard work, sir." "Good," said Mr. Wayne. "And what for your hard work? How do you expect to keep yourself at it?" "My own will, sir." "Good again," said his friend. "And how is that will to be kept to its duty?" "Mother says I'm self-willed enough for anything," said Magnus. "Truly. But self-will and will-power are very different forces, and often come in sharp collision. Misguided steam is quite likely to blow up the whole concern." "Well, sir, what can I do with my will but use it?" said the boy with some quickness. "You can abuse it quite easily," said Mr. Wayne. "Turn it on the wrong things, fire it up in the wrong place. A soldier needs to have the 'governor' of his own private engine in excellent working order." "I'm not a soldier yet," said Magnus, laughing, "and shall not be for four years." "You will be one, to all intents, as soon as you are admitted at West Point. From that moment you are counted in the service of the United States, and under her orders. Bound to do her bidding, whether you like it or not, whether you understand it or not." "Even if someone has blundered?" said Magnus with a half laugh. "Even if someone has blundered. With that question you have nothing to do. Men will blunder now and then, at West Point as elsewhere, but that is no concern of yours. Uncle Sam's orders are to be obeyed, and neither the quality nor the quantity of them affects the thing in the least." "That sounds hard," said Magnus. "It _is_ hard." "And rather impossible to carry out, I should say," remarked Magnus with a boy's air of competent criticism. "Nothing is impossible which ought to be done," said Mr. Wayne. "If the authorities at West Point did not disapprove of decorations, I would have that written up over your door in gilt letters." "Disapprove!" Magnus repeated. "Disapprove. A soldier's life has small time and place but for the absolute needs-be." "Did you ever go through West Point, sir?" said Magnus with a wondering look at his new-found friend.