Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed. Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. --DR. BONAR. No, Cadet Kindred was in no mood for "other girls" that day; had he not just been writing his heart out to Cherry? and was not her last letter lying _perdu_ up his sleeve? You could not expect him to have any relish for common doings. So with the easy, steady gait which I wish all men might copy, Magnus went swiftly on to the west end of the officers' row. Past Miss Saucy, who signalled him from her friend's porch; past Miss Bee, who bowed from an open window; past the talk and the laughter, the scent of chocolate, the certainty of sugar plums. Then at the last house of the old "west limits" he turned sharply round the corner, and began to mount the hill. Small danger of "other girls" here, or of other men, unless a few homesick strollers like himself; and these were passed with only a nod. The real denizens of the roadway were wild and sweet as the day. Red squirrels and brown chipmunks darted across the path, whisked into holes, or chattered in the treetops; "the sound of dropping nuts," the rustle of leaves, the voice of a crow or a gull, only made the stillness more exquisite. The rocks were cushioned with mosses; the ferns and the early fallen leaves of chestnut and butternut made a lovely carpet all about; the clear air seemed strung and tuned to the last pitch of harmony. Far down, down, the winding river, in its varying shades of blue and grey, flowed silently among the hills, flecked with the white wings of two or three sloops and schooners; but all too distant for the murmur of the little waves, the creaking of cordage, to reach him. Cadet Kindred paused several times at points where the view opened; then addressing himself to the hill again, and choosing the old broken, steep-pitched track of a hundred years ago. The Revolutionary style suited his mood to-day; and he sped up the last steep incline with a will; passed through the old sallyport, sprang up the parapet, and sat down to gaze. At his feet the rough hillside went in tumbling, breaking fashion down to the little fringe of houses in the officers' row; and beyond them the green plain spread out its fair expanse, with Barracks and Academic Library and Chapel, walling it in on the south. Elsewhere the river, and beyond that again the hills. From above the trees on Trophy Point the fair, curling folds of the flag, with an action which would have been lazy had there been any call for haste, lifted and drooped at the top of the tall white staff. Magnus Kindred stood up again and saluted, with a flourish.