So it was, one morning that I remember. Guard-mounting was
always late enough to let one feel the sun's power; and it was
a sultry morning, this. We were in July now, and misty,
vapourous clouds moved slowly over the blue sky, seeming to
intensify the heat of the unclouded intervals. But wonderful
sweet it was; and I under the shade of my flat hat, with a
little help from the foliage of a young tree, did not mind it
at all. Every bit of the scene was a pleasure to me; I missed
none of the details. The files of cadets in the camp alleys
getting their arms inspected; the white tents themselves,
with curtains tightly done up; here and there an officer
crossing the camp ground and stopping to speak to an orderly;
then the coming up of the band, the music, the marching out of
the companies; the leisurely walk from the camp of the officer
in charge, drawing on his white gloves; his stand and his
attitude; and then the pretty business of the parade. All
under that July sky; all under that flicker of cloud and sun,
and the soft, sweet breath of air that sometimes stole to us
to relieve the hot stillness; and all with that setting and
background of cedars and young foliage and bordering hills
over which the cloud shadows swept.
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