So he stood up to all his inches, just within the tent door, while Cadet Captain Upright sat on a camp stool facing him; a stray sunbeam working its way in to touch the chevrons, and lighting up the honest, sunburnt face. Mr. Upright was no beauty, but not a man in the Corps was more thoroughly respected than he. "Not much to look at," said Sam Weller of his hat, "but it's an astonishin' 'un to wear!" "Mr. Kindred," began Upright, "I asked you to come, because I wanted to talk to you." He paused, and Magnus responded, "Yes, sir." "You are in danger," Upright went on. "You are taking risks no wise man will shoulder." "What have I done, sir?" Magnus demanded, stiffening slightly. "Nothing special, to my knowledge," said the first captain, "But I see you in slippery places, where sooner or later a man must go down. And the mud often sticks for a good while to come, even after--and even if--he picks himself up and gets away." "I don't see, sir," Magnus began--"what risks are you talking of, Mr. Upright?" "The risk of being false to yourself, and to your Christian pledge and name; the risk of (practically) forgetting your mother and your mother's words." But now Magnus burst forth. "Forgetting my mother!" he said. Then checking himself: "Oh, well, sir, that proves you never saw her, Mr. Upright." Upright laughed, and his eyes shone. "Good for you!" he said heartily. "But, Mr. Kindred, you are training with the wrong crowd." And now Magnus coloured, and his eyes went down. Upright watched him for a moment in silence; then he took up a slip of paper, and held it out. "Here is a reminding text I wrote off for you," he said. "Take it with you up and down the post. 'He setteth a print on the heels of my feet.' That will do, sir," and Magnus saluted, and whirled away. "Might be the Com. himself, for the style he talks!" he grumbled, under his breath. But all the same, the words sank in. They were too true to miss a hearing, on the one side, and had been too kindly spoken to lose it, on the other. Yes, he was training with the wrong crowd, there was no doubt of that. Magnus winced under the confession. There was no one he so little liked to find fault with as himself, and to court-martial Cadet Kindred, on his own knowledge and belief, was extremely unpleasant. But the finding of the Court is rarely severe in such cases; and Magnus presently let himself off with a few admonitions to be more careful. He went to prayer-meeting regularly, boned discipline a little, and kept away from that crowd (what he called) "all he could."