"Doubtless he is in his room preparing his lessons for to-morrow. The
bugle-call for evening study-hour sounds at half-past seven, and the
lads must be busy with their books till half-after nine."

He drew out his watch, and glancing at its face, "Ah, it is just nine
o'clock," he said. "Kiss me good-night, daughter, and go back to your
berth."




CHAPTER II.


Max was in his room at the Academy, busy with his tasks, trying
determinately to forget homesickness by giving his whole mind to them,
and succeeding fairly well. Very desirous, very determined was the lad
to acquit himself to the very best of his ability that he might please
and honor both his Heavenly Father and his earthly one.

By the time the welcome sound of gun-fire and tattoo announced that the
day's work was over he felt fully prepared for the morrow's recitations.
But he was in no mood for play. The quiet that had reigned through the
building for the last two hours was suddenly broken in upon by sounds of
mirth and jollity--merry boyish voices talking, singing, some
accompanying themselves with the twang of a banjo or the tinkle of a
guitar; but Max, closing and putting his book aside, kept his seat, his
elbow on the desk, his head on his hand, while with a far-away look in
his dark eyes, he indulged in a waking dream.