On the way home, Lester and I drew up a compact whereby I was to have the use of his dark-room and chemicals until I felt that I was fairly on my photographic legs. Then I was to fix up one of my own. 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. He evidently understood what we were about, for he scowled deeply and walked rapidly away through the woods, without, however, offering to molest us. He carried a small black grip with him. As the man's retreating figure disappeared through the trees, Lester and I drew a long breath of relief, for we felt like criminals detected in a crime, and we were a trifle afraid of the fellow beside. We wandered on a little further, snapping a few more wayside pictures, and then turned toward home and retraced our steps. That afternoon, Lester came over to my father's house to witness the development of the morning's pictures. As, one by one, we put the plates through the developer, a majority came out well. One or two were a trifle under-exposed, and there were minor defects in others; but, on the whole, they were very good.