"Never!" Magnus said to himself. Not one of those four beloved people at home could ever swerve from him. What stuff those song makers did write! He followed the band through the variations and interlude. Then began the simple air again; and the words would come: "Love not! Love not! The thing you love may die." A great pang shot through the boy's heart. _Could_ such things happen to him? How had his mother looked? Magnus turned away from the band and hid himself in the dark recesses of his tent. XXII GIRLS Rien de trop est un point Dont on parle sans cesse, et qu'on observe point. --LA FONTAINE. So Miss Dangleum failed for that time. But "To-morrow is also a day," says the proverb. And it is not in human nature to be always insensible to blandishments. Mr. Kindred found himself scanning his wonderful eyes in the small glass quite oftener than was needed. He could also pick out Miss Dangleum's red parasol clear across the plain from all its compeers; and knew at least half of Miss Beguile's fans by experience. She declared that he had broken a quarter of them, but this statement is plainly incorrect. The Point filled up to crowding as the encampment neared its close, and introductions, walks, picnics, were multiplied, and every cadet who liked the fun could have enough of it. Magnus Kindred, for one, had about all he could manage, Rig's favourite cousin was always on his hands when Rig himself was on guard or in confinement. This happened pretty often, and as Rig was his "wife" Magnus could not object. Chapman's sister was often turned over to him because Chapman's best girl was also at the Point. Then there was every now and then some plain, unnoticed girl whom Magnus in his chivalry would look after and take out, giving her a royal good time. There were guests at some of the houses where the young cadet had been made welcome, and he must help amuse them. And finally (for my hero was every inch a man), there were wits and beauties with whom he liked to stand at least as well as the best. It was all very enticing, and he was so lonely when his mother had gone that petting of any sort felt good. So that last part of August was one grand whirl, in which common sense and right ways got drawn in and danced a breakdown. At least that was what Cadet Kindred said of it himself in his calmer moments. For "Kindred--late at roll-call," "Kindred--absent at supper," had been read out too often from the blue list after parade. Magnus was on guard the last night but one of Camp Golightly, and between reliefs took time to foot up his accounts. What had he to show for those weeks since his mother went away? Or (excepting only her visit) for the whole of "Yearling Camp"? Not much, he thought to himself with a curl of his lip. The little pleasure he had given was easy and cheap; the pleasure he had had--well, it did not look very bright to him now. Not very satisfactory.