So he brought in water and cleaned guns; stood attention, and stood his ground; and when the time came for that amusement, "advanced ghosts" in the most correct terms, but kept his musket against all attempts of Cadet Devlin and his compeers. Nay, on one such occasion, he gave the marauder the most accurate measure of himself upon the ground that the young man had ever had. Of course Magnus was reported, but he gave too straight answers for the charge to stand, and the upshot was that Mr. Devlin lost his chevrons "for hazing plebs." The whole account caused great consternation at home, only lulled by the assurance Magnus gave that if he had let anyone take his gun, he himself might have been put in "light prison" or sent home in disgrace. For to the bewildered mind of a pleb in those early days, anything might happen. Devlin swore vengeance, and in a small way carried it out. But young Kindred laughed off some things, ignored others, and now and then gave Mr. Devlin a blaze out of his honest eyes before which that gentleman rather shrivelled up. Nobody liked to exactly try to handle Charlemagne Kindred: there was about him "a look of unknown quantities"--as Mr. Upright remarked one day. Cadet Upright was a staunch friend; and it was a blessing to all the plebs in Camp Hard that year that he was head man over them. "Come and clean my gun, Mr. Kindred," he would say, adding, when Magnus was in the tent, "The gun is not very dirty, and there is no hurry about it, but you must be doing something, and in here is better than out there." A fact which Magnus realised when from the cool recesses of the tent he saw other plebs fetching water in the sun, or standing attention for a lecture from Mr. Devlin: teased and worried and laughed at by Mr. Prank. It was during the fervid days of that July that Rig ("poor Rig," as Magnus generally termed him in the letters home) went through a small bit of experience which, by his own account, made him "a sadder, if not a wiser, man." The morning was intensely hot. The plebs had been out at their early drill and now in the canvas shade were enjoying a few minutes' rest. Guard-mounting was just over, and for a brief space no one had anything special to do. The visitors' seats were nearly deserted, with only a few sentimentals from either side the colour-line still lounging there. The sentries paced up and down in full fatigue dress: the row of stacked arms shimmered in the heat. In his tent Magnus was devouring over again the last night's letter from home, and so did not notice what was going on, until the shadow of Cadet Prank in the tent door made him look up in time to see Rig (alias McLean) start to his feet and stand very stiff indeed.