"Perhaps I shall," answered Anna. "I'll tell my father and mother about the notice."
At supper time when Anna brought up the matter of having her picture taken, her father did not approve.
"I do not believe there are any satisfactory pictures except oil portraits," he said. "I think it would be just a waste of money."
By that time, however, Anna had become quite enthusiastic over daguerreotypes. She had learned during the afternoon of three of her friends who were going to have their pictures taken.
"May I have mine taken if I earn the money myself?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, indeed," her father replied, and then dismissed the matter, feeling that when she had seen a daguerreotype she would have no further interest in them.
It was then two weeks before the artist, as he called himself, would come to town. Anna went to work at once picking blueberries. The berries were plentiful, and Anna's purse held enough money for the picture before the two weeks had passed. Anna, however, did not go to the picture gallery the first day it was opened. She waited to see Abigail's picture. When Abigail fairly danced into the house the second afternoon after the artist's arrival, Anna was much disappointed at first, because she thought Abigail had left the picture at home.
"See!" cried Abigail, holding up something that looked like a little black wooden book. It was about four inches by three and a half and not more than half an inch thick.
Abigail's Daguerreotype