"Not this man!" So shot the feeling through Cadet Charlemagne. This man, who had never even come near such a thing in public. But quick as Nehemiah got his orders, so on the instant the young cadet had his. Was he not pledged to shun no point of witness-bearing? And, with again one swift thought of Cherry, Magnus obeyed; standing there by the little fire, while good Mrs. Newcomb bowed her head, and the others watched him from their mossy seats. And the words were Cherry's own, as she had said them on that well-remembered morning. "He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much." This was a very small thing to do, but I think nobody ever guessed what it cost Magnus Kindred. And as little did he imagine, how that small bit of open confession broadened out and took its full proportions to other eyes. There was something in the serious face, something in the reverent voice, something about it all, indeed, that everybody felt. As Mr. Kindred came forward now with Mrs. Newcomb's coffee cup, Clinker looked at him curiously, McLean with a sort of wondering veneration, while Miss Lane said to herself: "Fight! Of course he could!" But then Magnus threw himself into the fun, and in two minutes had fanned the frolic to a point that quite outshone the fire. "So nice to have a private chaplain along," Miss Freak had said airily, trying to throw off her thoughts. But the other girls frowned down all attempts at fun in that direction, and harmony reigned. Or, to speak more correctly, the lunch baskets reigned in a very harmonious atmosphere. Sitting about on moss or stones, after the good cheer had vanished, the cadets got off so many "grinds" that poor Mrs. Newcomb declared she should have no strength left to help her down the hill. Then they sang songs, and gave out conundrums. The girls made chains of the pine needles, and the men in grey put them on, and declared them emblematic and imperishable. On her part, Miss Lane went on with her study of Magnus Kindred, watching him keenly. She noticed that though he took the frail green links from her hands, putting them round his cap, twining them about his arm, he said no word of their being "fetters"--called them garlands, instead. She felt that in all the light play, the cavalier-like deference, there was no sham devotion, no hint of deeper things. Yet he wore his class ring. And she knew she was pretty, and felt certain she was well dressed. It piqued her; she would have liked to see those green chains press hard, with a permanent sensation. And then, when she went off to look at some side view which Mr. Clinker recommended, what did Mr. Kindred do but seat himself by Mrs. Newcomb and talk to her! It was extremely trying. I think, to me, the way down Crownest is more difficult than the way up; taking hold perhaps upon a set of less-used muscles; but the party all came safe and sound to the lower level and easier going of the plain.