themselves away; and made me sit down
on what he called a "locker." The tent curtains were rolled tight up,
as far as they would go, and so were the curtains of every other tent;
most beautiful order prevailed everywhere and over every trifling
detail.

"Well," said Mr. Thorold, sitting down opposite me on a
candle-box--"how do you think you would like camp life?"

"The tents are too close together," I said.

He laughed, with a good deal of amusement.

"That will do!" he said. "You begin by knocking the camp to pieces."

"But it is beautiful," I went on.

"And not comfortable. Well, it is pretty comfortable," he said.

"How do you do when it storms very hard--at night?"

"Sleep."

"Don't you ever get wet?"

"_That_ makes no difference."

"Sleep in the rain!" said I. And he laughed again at me. It was not
banter. The whole look and air of the man testified to a thorough
soldierly, manly contempt of little things--of all things that might
come in the way of order and his duty. An intrinsic independence and
withal control of circumstances, in so far as the mind can control
them. I read the power to do it. But I wondered to myself if he never
got homesick in that little tent and full camp. It would not do to
touch the question.

"Do you know Preston Gary?" I asked. "He is a cadet."

"I know him."

I thought the tone of the words, careless as they were, signified
little value for the knowledge.

"I have not seen him anywhere," I remarked.

"Do you want to see him? He has seen you."

"No, he cannot," I said, "or he would have come to speak to me."

"He would if he could," replied Mr. Thorold--"no doubt; but the
liberty is wanting. He is on guard. We crossed his path as we came
into the camp."

"On guard!" I said. "Is he? Why, he was on guard only a day or two
ago. Does it come so often?"

"It comes pretty often in Gary's case," said my companion.

"Does it?" I said. "He does not like it."

"No," said Mr. Thorold, merrily. "It is not a favourite amusement in
most cases."

"Then why does he have so much of it?"

"Gary is not fond of discipline."

I guessed this might be true. I knew enough of Preston for that. But
it startled me.

"Does he not obey the regulations?" I asked presently, in a lowered
tone.

Mr. Thorold smiled. "He is a friend of yours, Miss Randolph?"

"Yes," I said; "he is my mother's nephew."

"Then he is your cousin?" said my companion. Another of those
penetrative glan