Mrs. Rockwood drew her close to her side as she replied:
“Let me examine these treasures which have arrived so mysteriously, read the directions concerning them, and then we’ll see what we’ll see,” and she began to read: “Take the camera into a perfectly dark closet, where no ray of light can penetrate (even covering the keyhole), and then place within it one of the sensitive plates, being careful not to expose the unused plates. Your camera is now ready to take the picture, etc.” “That is all very simple, I’m sure, and if the taking proves as simple as are the directions you need have little apprehension of failure. But your directions add very explicitly that you must not attempt to take a picture unless the day is sunny. So I fear those conditions preclude the possibility of your taking any upon this cloudy day, and you will have to possess your souls in peace till ‘Old Sol’ favors you.”
“Oh, dear, isn’t that too bad! I thought we could take some right off. Don’t you think we might at least try, mamma?”
“I fear they would prove failures; better wait a more favorable light.”
As though to tantalize frail humanity, “Old Sol” remained very exclusive all day, and, even though Helen remained till evening in the hope that he would overcome his fit of sulks, nothing of the kind happened, and she was forced to go back to the school without one.
“Just wait till Monday, and we’ll do wonders; see if we don’t,” said Jean, as she bade her farewell, little dreaming what wonders she was destined to do with her magical box ere the sun set Monday night.
“I’ll ask Miss Preston to let me come over at four o’clock on Monday, and then we’ll go out in the little dell and get a lovely picture. You know the place I mean: where that old clump of fir-trees stands by the ruined wall,” said artistic Helen.
But when Monday arrived unforeseen difficulties arose for Jean. The day was the sunniest ever known, and, while waiting for Helen to come, she got out the precious camera to set the plates.
“Why, mamma, there isn’t a dark closet in the whole house; not a single one,” cried Jean, coming into her mother’s room as she was dressing to go out on Monday afternoon. “Now, where in this world am I to open my plate-box, I’d like to know?”
Mrs. Rockwood laughed as she turned toward Jean, whose face was the picture of dismay. “True enough, there isn’t. Now, who would have supposed that the architect who designed this house, and put a window in every closet, could have been so short-sighted as not to anticipate such a need as the present one?”