The camera had been sold loaded with plates, ready for use, and I lost no time in snapping several views here and there as the fancy seized me.
Lester taught me to develop them, and when the most of them came up under the chemicals clear and sharp, my delight was great.
And when I made prints from them, and the familiar home scenes and my playmates’ faces were there plainly before me, it seemed to me that the universe could hold nothing more entrancing than amateur photography. Of course I had failures, but they were few compared with the successes.
One morning in May, after I had become thoroughly versed in the art of using the camera and had fitted up a dark-room of my own in the attic, Lester and I sallied out with our cameras, for no other purpose than to secure a half-dozen snap-shots whenever desirable ones might present themselves.
It was an ideal day for picture-taking. Rain had fallen the night before and had left the atmosphere clear and brilliant, with none of that dim haze which is the camerist’s Nemesis so often.
We had strolled along the road, perhaps two miles out of the village, and had caught three or four very pretty views.
None had presented themselves, however, for some time, when, by a turn of the road, we came upon a man drinking from a spring at the side of the road. He was but a few feet away, and was stooping down with his back toward us.
“Let’s get him,” said I, in a low tone.
“All right,” replied Lester; “you do it, though. I’ve only got one plate left.”
I had several unexposed plates remaining in my camera, so I pointed the box toward the man and pressed the button. Just at the instant when the shutter must have operated, the man heard us and turned his head, facing us squarely.