Peter, left to his own devices for a moment, wandered about the room. It was an ordinary country photograph gallery, with the usual top and side lights, platform, screens, and chairs. The only odd thing about it was that the walls, from a chair rail at the bottom to well above the eye line, were completely covered with photographs. It was a big room, and there was not one inch of space wasted. It must have been the enthusiastic work of a lifetime, and Walter Lord was, obviously, a good workman for even the portraits which, judging by the costumes, dated far back, were not badly faded. "This is some collection you've got here," said Peter, admiringly, as Lord came back into the room. "Wish I had time to look it all over." Lord laid his plates down on a table near by, and smiling at the compliment, motioned Peter to a chair on the platform. Then he ducked under the black cloth of the camera, talking all the while: "Yes, I've done a fairish amount of work in my time, Mr. Clancy, though a lot of it was gratis, as you may imagine. (A little more to the left, please.) I haven't made a lot of money, but I've had a splendid time. (Chin up, just a little. Not quite so much--there, that's fine. Couldn't be better.) I'll show you some things you may be interested in, in just a moment. Now, don't move, _please_." He slipped out from under the black cloth, caught up and adjusted the plate holder with expert hands, and then stood beside the camera, with the bulb ready. "Now imagine that you've just caught a two-pound trout, Mr. Clancy! That's what I want! That's fine, fine! Oh, that's going to be splendid, Mr. Clancy," he said, gleefully, as he manipulated the plates. "Now just once more to make sure. A little to the right--there--and another fish!" Peter laughed aloud. The shutter clicked. The old man was delighted. "I caught that laugh of yours, Mr. Clancy, and that was just what I wanted--to remember you by. It's good to be young, and to laugh. I don't believe you have a care in the world!" Peter laughed inwardly, sardonically, at this. And all the while he was thinking of Donald Morris. How much need he be told? "Come over here, and I'll show you something pretty, Mr. Clancy." Walter Lord, having disposed of his precious plates, was again at Peter's side. "I think this is one of the most charming pictures I've ever made. See if you recognize it." He led the way to a corner of the room where some of the photographs were turning a little brown; evidently they had been placed there years ago. He pointed to a cabinet-size picture half way up the wall. Peter looked and saw, dressed in a fanciful costume of fluttering gauze, a delicate, slender child's figure standing, fairy-like, beside the trunk of a great beech. The flicker of sun and leaf shadows was all about her, and her little oval face was alight with joy and mischief. The beauty of it caught Peter's breath.