"Nobody wants 'em in. There'll be enough without yours," said Rig. "But Carr is going to bring up a grocery store, and I thought you might like to see it." "Bring up a grocery! Look out it doesn't turn into light prison for some of you." [Illustration: MOUNTING HEAVY GUNS IN FORT CLINTON] However, groceries being rare in that particular locality, when Magnus went out for his evening walk he did stroll towards the old Academic. The night was moonless, and not overbright with even stars; but the white spread of snow made things quite plain enough. And presently, as Magnus stepped down the walk, he saw a dark huddle of figures near the appointed west wall. A small sled and a very big box, with a half-dozen cadets playing stevedore. Then an officer came along the walk, meeting Magnus, who saluted and passed on. The officer glanced rather curiously down towards the dark group, but, with his mind full of something else, he merely took a short cut across the area, and so through the sallyport from the inside. It was at a critical moment. Box after box of chickens, mince pies, cakes, ham, sweets, celery, and so forth, had been pounced upon, stowed in bags, and carried off. Rig's turn came last. "I believe it's a mistake, you all going the same way," he said, as he seized the last bag of chickens. "I'll slip round the corner, and come in from the plain." So round he went in the dusky light and met Lieutenant Benton in the very mouth of the sallyport. Rig saluted, and slipped in. But dark as it was under the grey arch, the officer's practised eyes found something unusual about the cadet outlines, and the next moment he turned and gave chase. Rig had the start, and would have got off out of sight in another second if Mr. Benton had not suddenly shouted: "Cadet, halt!" Then it was all up. "What have you there, sir?" "Chickens, sir." "Go to the guard-house and turn them in." Crestfallen and sour, Rig crossed the area, set his bag down at the door of the guardhouse, and went in with his report. Being promptly ordered to produce his plunder, Rig stepped to the door--and behold! one chicken only was left. The light-fingered, light-footed boys in grey had in that two minutes rifled the bag and vanished. And Rig felt smaller than his own chicken when he turned it in, with the big bag, to the officer of the day. "Just my luck!" he said gloomily. But he never knew who ate the chickens. XXIV NINETY-NINE DAYS TO JUNE The bargain must be, That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free. For this is a sort of engagement, you see, That is binding on you, but not binding on me. --_Nothing to Wear._