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  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  PEGGY SHOWS HERSELF IN HER TRUE COLOURS.

  The photographic fever burnt fiercely for the next few weeks. Everyspare hour was devoted to the camera, and there was not a person in thehouse, from the vicar himself to the boy who came in to clean boots andknives, who had not been pressed to repeated sittings. There were nomore blank plates, but there were some double ones which had been twiceexposed, and showed such a kaleidoscopic jumble of heads and legs as wasas good as any professional puzzle; but, besides these, there were anumber of groups where the likenesses were quite recognisable, thoughscarcely flattering enough to be pleasant to the originals. There wasquite a scene in the dining-room on the evening when Oswald came down intriumph and handed round the proofs of the first presentable group, overwhich he had been busy all the afternoon.

  "Oh, oh, oh! I'm an old woman, and I never knew it!" cried Mrs Asplin,staring in dismay at the haggard-looking female who sat in the middle ofthe group, with heavy, black shadows on cheeks and temple. The vicarcast a surreptitious glance in the glass above the sideboard, and triedto straighten his bent shoulders, while Mellicent's cheeks grew scarletwith agitation, and the tears were in her voice, as she cried--

  "I look like a p-p-pig! It's not a bit like! A nasty, horrid, fat,puffy pig!"

  "I don't care about appearances; but mine is not in the least like,"Esther said severely. "I am sure no one could recognise it; I lookseventy-eight at the very least."

  Robert flicked the paper across the table with a contemptuous "Bah!" andMax laughed in his easy, jolly manner, and said--

  "Now I know how I shall look when my brain softens! I'm glad I've seenit; it will be a lesson to me to take things easily, and notover-study."

  "But look at the leaves of the ivy," protested Oswald, in aggrievedself-vindication, "each one quite clear and distinct from the others;it's really an uncommonly good plate. The detail is perfect. Look atthat little bunch of flowers at the corner of the bed!" All in vain,however, did he point out the excellences of his work. The victimsrefused to look at the little bunch of flowers. Each one was occupiedwith staring at his own portrait; the Asplin family sighing andprotesting, and Peggy placidly poking a pin through the eyes of thevarious sitters, and holding the paper to the light to view the effect.It was a little trying to the feelings of one who had taken immensepains over his work, and had given up a bicycle ride to sit for a wholeafternoon in a chilly pantry, dabbling in cold water, and watching overthe various processes. Oswald was ruffled, and showed it more plainlythan was altogether courteous.

  "I'm sorry you're not pleased," he said coldly. "I aim at truthfulness,you see, and that is what you don't get from a professional photograph.It's no good wasting time, simply to get oneself disliked. I'll go infor Nature, and leave the portrait business to somebody else. The girlscan try! They think they can do everything!"

  Peggy looked at Esther, and Esther looked at Peggy. They did not say aword, but a flash of understanding passed from the brown eyes to thegrey, which meant that they were on their mettle. They were not goingto defend themselves, but henceforth it was a case of die or produce agood photograph, and so oblige Oswald to alter his tone of scornfulincredulity.

  For the next week the camera was the one engrossing thought. Everyminute that could be spared was devoted to experiments, so that Frauleincomplained that lessons were suffering in consequence. The hearts ofher pupils were not in their work, she declared; it would be a goodthing if a rule could be made that no more photographs were to be takenuntil the Christmas holidays. She looked very fierce and formidable asshe spoke, but soft-hearted Mrs Asplin put in a plea for forgiveness.

  "Ah, well, then, have patience for a few days longer," she begged."They are just children with a new toy; let them have as much of it asthey will at first, and they will tire of their own accord, and settledown to work as well as ever. We can control their actions, but nottheir thoughts; and I'm afraid if I forbade photography at present, youwould find them no more interested in lessons. I fancy there issomething especially engrossing on hand this week, and we might as welllet them have it out."

  Even Mrs Asplin, however, hardly realised the thoroughness with whichthe girls were setting to work to achieve their end. They held acommittee meeting on Esther's bed, sitting perched together in attitudesof inelegant comfort, with arms encircling their knees, and chinsresting on the clasped hands, wherein it was proposed and seconded thatPeggy, the artistic, should pose and take the sitters, while Esther, theaccurate, should undertake the after-processes.

  "And what am I to do?" cried Mellicent plaintively; and her elderssmiled upon her with patronising encouragement.

  "You shall wash up all the trays and glasses, and put them neatly away."

  "You shall carry the heavy things, dear, and stand to me for your backhair. I think I could make a really good effect with your back hair."Peggy put her head on one side and stared at the flaxen mane inspeculative fashion. "A long muslin gown--a wreath of flowers--a bunchof lilies in your hands! If you weren't so fat, you would dosplendiforously for Ophelia. I might manage it, perhaps, if I took youfrom the back, with your head turned over your shoulder, so as to showonly the profile. Like that! Don't move now, but let me see how youlook." She took Mellicent's head between her hands as she spoke, waggedit to and fro, as if it belonged to a marionette, and then gave afrog-like leap to a farther corner of the bed to study the effect. "Alittle more to the right. Chin higher! Look at the ceiling. Yes-es--Ican do it. I see how it can be done."

  It turned out, indeed, that Peggy had a genius for designing and posingpretty, graceful pictures. With a few yards of muslin and a basket, orsuch odds and ends of rubbish as horrified Esther's tidy soul to behold,she achieved marvels in the way of fancy costumes, and transformed theplacid Mellicent into a dozen different characters: Ophelia, crownedwith flowers; Marguerite, pulling the petals of a daisy; Hebe, bearing abasket of fruit on her head, and many other fanciful impersonations,were improvised and taken before the week was over. She went about thework in her usual eager, engrossed, happy-go-lucky fashion, stickingpins by the dozen into Mellicent's flesh in the ardour of arrangement,and often making a really charming picture, only to spoil it at the lastmoment by a careless movement, which altered the position of the camera,and so omitted such important details as the head of the sitter, or lefther squeezed into one corner of the picture, like a sparrow on thehouse-top.

  Out of a dozen photographs, three, however, were really remarkablesuccesses; as pretty pictures as one could wish to see, and, moreover,exceedingly good likenesses of the bonnie little subject. Esther's partof the work was performed with her usual conscientious care; and whenthe last prints were mounted, the partners gazed at them with raptureand pride. They were exhibited at the dinner-table the same eveningamid a scene of riotous excitement. The vicar glowed with pleasure;Mrs Asplin called out, "Oh, my baby! Bless her heart!" and whiskedaway two tears of motherly pride. Oswald was silent and subdued; andeven Robert said, "Humph--it's not so bad," a concession which turnedthe girls' heads by its wonderful magnanimity.

  Their triumph was almost sweeter than they had expected; but, truth totell, they had had too much of photography during the last week, andMrs Asplin's prophecy came true, inasmuch as it now ceased to become anoccupation of absorbing interest, and assumed its rightful place as anamusement to be enjoyed now and then, as opportunity afforded.