"What in blazes are you trying to photograph?" he said after a while, as he watched the lad focussing his camera earthwards on what looked like a piece of black glass, which projected from the stand.
"Clouds, sir," answered Ralph.
"When I try to photograph clouds I look at the sky, not on the ground," the stranger remarked. "What's that contrivance you've got on your camera stand, anyway?"
"It's just a broken piece of looking glass," said the boy, "but I painted it on the back with black enamel."
"So that I could get at the clouds easier, sir," the boy replied. "I read how to do that in a book I've got."
"I don't see why black glass should make any difference," said the fisherman, getting up from the log and coming over to where the boy was standing.
"It does, sir. If you look on the glass," said Ralph, "you'll see. The clouds are ever so much sharper."
The stranger looked in. Even the fleecy white clouds, scarcely visible in the blue sky overhead, stood out a clear white against the blackness of the mirror. The blue sky was not reflected in the glass.
"That's queer," said the stranger, "the blue hardly shows at all. I wonder why?"