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.

The star negative of the lot, however, was that of the stranger whom I
had photographed drinking, and who had turned his head and caught me in
the act. That was perfect. Everything was brilliantly sharp, and the
shutter had caugh