"Can't, my dear. I've dropped a hairpin and I can't see it in the dark. Gracious, I never thought! We won't have any electric lights here, and no gas. I wonder if we'll have to go back to candle days." "They weren't so bad," observed Ruth. "I think it must have been fine in the Colonial days, to have the candles all aglow, and----" "Candle fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Alice, who could be very outspoken at times. "Give me an incandescent light, every time. It's getting dark here. I wonder what system of illumination they have?" "Kerosene lamps," replied Ruth. "There's one on the mantel. I'll light it." "Do, that's a dear. I've dropped another hairpin, and I need every one." There was silence in the bedroom of the old-fashioned country house for a space. Ruth lighted the lamp, and drew down the window shades. The girls freshened themselves up after their journey, and prepared to descend to the dining room. From the kitchen came more delicious odors as Mrs. Apgar and her helper finished preparing the evening meal. Scattered about, in other apartments of the big farmhouse, were the other members of the film theatrical company. Mr. DeVere had been given a room near his daughters', and they could hear him talking in his husky voice to Mr. Pertell, who was across the hall. "When are they going to begin taking the pictures?" asked Ruth, as she helped Alice hook up a waist that fastened in the back. "Oh, not for some days yet, I fancy," was the answer. "Mr. Pertell will have to look around, and pick out the best backgrounds for the different scenes. I wonder what sort of parts I'll get? Something funny, I hope; like tumbling into the river and being rescued." "Alice! You wouldn't want anything like that!" cried Ruth, much shocked. "Wouldn't I, though! Just give me a chance. I can swim, you know!" "Yes, I know, but tumbling into the river--with your clothes on--it might be dangerous!" "Oh, well, if we're in the moving picture business we will have to learn to take chances. I read in the paper the other day how a couple leaped from the Brooklyn Bridge with a parachute--a man and woman." "Yes, I know; but we're not going to do anything like _that_! Papa wouldn't let us." "No, I suppose not," and Alice sighed as though she really wanted to indulge in some such daring "stunt" as a bridge leap. "I know one part you're going to have, Ruth," went on Alice, as she surveyed herself in the glass. "What is it?" asked Ruth, eagerly. "Shall I like it?" "I think you will, dear. It's laid in an old mill--there is one on Oak Farm, I believe. You're to be imprisoned in it, and your lover rides up--probably on one of those silly milk-white steeds I object to--and rescues you--breaks down the door in fact--and gets you just as you are about to be bound on the mill wheel." "Really, Alice?" cried Ruth, clasping her hands in delight, for she dearly loved a romantic role. "Really and truly--truly rural, I call it." "How did you hear of it?"