"That weak strip of bunting!" thought Magnus, with a certain interlining of words not complimentary to himself. And other words written above his father's grave came quick and clear: "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever." Magnus stood up and walked slowly along the little path to another point, whence he could see the "Central" road. "I'm no end glad she's coming!"--so ran his thoughts. "But I just wonder how she'll like her boy? And there she comes!" For now a puff of white smoke rose up at the mouth of the Breakneck tunnel and then fell into a long, curling line, and began to wind its way rapidly along the curves of the river road. Magnus watched it, jumped on the seat to see it better still, and then tossed his cap into the air like any boy let out of school. "Hurrah, old flag!" he cried; "there she comes! Now you'll see somebody worth looking at." The white line rushed on, paused at Cold Spring, whirled along over the north bay and hid itself in the green Island woods, while Magnus, again waving his cap and this time so recklessly that it was near going down the hill, hurried away to Battery Knox, ran up on the green parapet, and stood to watch. The engine came puffing over the south bay as if the fate of the nation hung on its speed, dived into the Garrisons tunnel and slowed up. How long it stayed! "Just to put off mother and her little trunk!" thought Magnus, laughing to himself, and then getting such dim eyes that he could not see a thing. But he felt as if he could hug even the trunk. And now, puff, puff, the train slowly moved away from the station, and the little ferryboat rang her bell. Of course, his mother was there, in the small, dark throng that came down to the river, and of course he must therefore really see her, but--Oh! it was too tantalising! I think at that minute Magnus would have given anything (except furlough) for a good glass. The boat was off, steering across the river in a pretty curve to suit the tide; the smooth water turning back in two long lines of wrinkles in her wake. Magnus leaped down from the parapet and was speeding away up the path at a great rate when there came a hail: "Mr. Kin--dred!" Magnus paused to see. Clustered about the pathetic white column that looking calmly down on the silent river, tells in such vivid fashion its terrible tale of struggle and death, were three or four very summery looking girls: Miss Fashion, Miss Dangleum, and another whom Magnus did not know. "_Do_ come here, Mr. Kindred," pleaded Miss Dangleum. Well, a cadet is nothing if he is not a squire of distressed damsels. Magnus turned and jumped down to where they stood. "What's the matter?" he said; "has a fan gone down the hill? or is a parasol in trouble?" "There, isn't that just like you!" said Miss Fashion. "No, nothing so serious as that." "Miss Beguile has come," said Miss Dangleum, "and she asked you down to a private view of her eyes."