So the boy arranged an apparatus by turning down one chair, setting another across it, and throwing over both a table-cover for a screen. Prudy looked solemnly at her finger-nails.
"That's jolly, Miss Parlin. Just keep that little nose straight, so it won't be foreshortened or forelengthened. Now, young lady," continued the little artist, poking his roguish face between the bars of the chair, "afraid your dress won't take! too near—ahem—snuff color."
"Don't say snuff-color, Horace, or I'll sneeze, and that'll spoil my nose."
"O, what foolishness!" laughed Grace and Cassy.
"Hush! There, I've fixed the focus. Now, observe this fly on my jacket (coat, I mean), young lady, and don't you wink." Horace consulted a small bottle he held in his hand for a watch.
"These pictures were all failures," he said. "Some had 'no focus,' while others were 'all focus;' they 'flattered,' and were likewise too 'negative.'"
Meanwhile, the artist, Mr. Drake, much amused, brought in his photographic apparatus, and made a picture of the little group. This picture Mrs. Clifford purchased for Mrs. Parlin, instead of the many-nosed miniature of the baby.
The day before starting for the east, Prudy went with Mrs. Clifford, her cousins, and Cassy, to visit the hospital, which was filled with sick and wounded soldiers. They wanted to give something to every man they saw, and mourned when their "goody-basket" was emptied of its contents.
"O, ma," said Grace, with ready tears, "it just makes me feel like we must get up that fair, and raise money!"
"I only wish I could be here to help," said little Prudy.