Here stands a tall first classman, perfectly hemmed in by the dear people from home. His cap is off, and his face aglow; and lifted high up in his arms is the pet of the family; the little girl's hand straying round his neck, her soft childish dress and his gleaming chevrons setting each other off in a very perfect way. Beyond them is a many-coloured group of girls and dresses, but the girls look sleepy, and the muslins a trifle tired. The small hours of the hop last night have been too much for both. They are languidly talking over supposed conquests, rousing up now and then to say good-bye to special cadet friends, with many promises to come back next June for graduation. Under another tree is another party in the freshest of dresses, but themselves in the dumps. "Why, Amy!" says one of the calmest of the group, "you are almost crying!" "Oh, it is too awful to have it all go!" said Miss Amy, never taking her tearful gaze from the white tents. "I asked Ella this morning how she could possibly sit there and eat all that chicken and egg. I couldn't touch a thing!" And beyond these again stands a camera and its attendant genii, where a half-dozen mothers and their cadet sons are getting photographed together. Great army wagons pass back and forth between camp and barracks, bearing away bedding, lockers, brooms, and looking-glasses; and over the same short road go men in grey, with private effects too precious for the wagon, or perhaps only a belated broom. Out in the company streets there gathered and grew the while, this day, an array of rubbish; old shoes and gloves, old boxes that had once held boodle, white jars that _must_ have known tobacco, and yet had baffled (somehow) all tactical noses. White handkerchiefs--this one, indeed, duly marked "Smith, J." but this other, alas! filmy and fine with embroidery and lace. Once coveted and begged for and hid away, now tossed out among mess-hall spoons, stray towels, and broken glass. Had it even, perhaps, belonged to the fair damsel now weeping over the coming wreck of Camp Golightly? Take warning, young ladies, and do not waste your pocket handkerchiefs. As time went on, the grey element gradually faded out from about the seats, and the white canvas began to shrink and fall from its smooth shapeliness, with cadets clustering in and about every tent. The drummers came, and the first drum sounded. The tents shivered and swayed, the cadets took new positions, the breeze played over their heads and threatened to strike the tents at its own pleasure. Another drum, and now every eye and hand are needed to maintain even the semblance of a camp. Another--and the pretty little white town falls prostrate, and the grey men have the field.