"The point was this," said Miss Saucy. "Kate said that before you will go down on your knees to a woman, you must have a cushion a mile high. The rest of us thought that perhaps a yard might do." "Pardon me!" said Mr. Trueman, with some energy; "if ever I kneel to a woman, I shall want no cushion!" And the tall cadet captain bowed gravely to Violet, touched his cap to the others, and walked away. A quick clearance of grey coats from about the seats followed. Over by the innocent-looking reveille gun stood two soldiers in blue, at the foot of the flagstaff were two more. The flag showed off its beauties, lifting, falling, floating away in circling folds upon the fitful air; then drooping, a mere line of colour against the staff. Then came a series of wild yells from the front of barracks, answering the roll-call, and then parade. In spite of the dignitaries who generally "assist" at a review, adding all that position or plumage can give, they never get off anything at West Point that is quite so good as an old-time dress parade. I use my adjective wittingly, for--no disrespect to the new tactics, they hurt the effect. To-night everything was perfect, even the music. The band struck up "Money Musk," or some other time-honoured quick-step, known in those happy days before "Boulanger" was heard of; the grey files came down the green in absolute order, and drew up in a long, unbroken, glancing line, before the seats. The hills across the river were in a glory of sunshine, the higher heads that sentinel the north entrance to the Highlands showed sunlight and shadow, too. The river went silently along, you could just hear the paddles of the _Mary Powell_, as she speeded round Gee's Point on her northward course. All this, while the adjutant dressed the line, and brought it to parade rest. "Sound off!" It matters little what they played then, for as the drum major raised his baton and struck his attitude, and the throng of bandsmen went nimbly after him, our two Western girls were absolutely and wholly bewitched. To see the black plumes slanting off as one before the breeze, with the stir of a red sash here and there, and the glinting of breast-plates and bayonets and bell buttons in that long moveless line. Then to behold the band of musicians getting tangled up in a maze at the turn, but coming out all right, and playing for dear life through it all,--they were so wrapped and lost, no wonder the gun made them jump. Then the wonder of the manual, to unwonted eyes; the comical different voices in which the sergeants reported, with hand on heart (supposedly), and the amused guesses as to how in Company D there should be two privates absent and unaccounted for. Even the jumble of the orders was delightful.