"A gilitin plate, is it? Thin, faith, ye'll take ne'er a picter this day, for Oi'm jist afther usin' the last schrap av gilitin in the house to make the wine jilly fer the dinner."

"I don't mean _that_ kind of gelatine; the kind I use is already prepared on little plates in this box, and I have to go in the dark closet to fix them."

"Faith, I'd fix thim out here, thin, where ye can see what ye're about.

It's dungeon dhark in the pot-closet."

"That is exactly what I want, and, _please_, don't come near it, or open the door while I'm in there, will you?"

"No, no; I'll not come near ye. The minute I've done me taties it's down in the laundry Oi'm goin', an' Oi'll not bother ye at all; but here, take this schmall, little candle wid ye whan ye go in, fer it's that dhark ye'll not see yer hand forninst ye," and she caught up a candle from the shelf.

"No, no! I don't _want_ any light; the darker it is the better."

"It's crackin' yer head aff ye'll be."

"No, I sha'n't," said Jean, as she whisked into the closet and drew the door together just as Mary started down the back stairs to the laundry.

Had the closet been designed for an eel-pot it would have proved the most complete success, for getting into it was a very simple matter, whereas, getting _out_ required considerable ingenuity. Absorbed in the one idea of getting the plates placed in the camera, Jean entirely forgot the peculiarities of the fastening upon the door. As she slammed it together every ray of light vanished, and she was instantly enveloped in an Egyptian darkness. Carefully opening her box, she drew from it one of the plates, touched it with her fingers to find which side was coated with the gelatine preparation, placed it in the camera and turned to leave the closet.

"Now, I'll have a picture in just about two jiffs," she said, and pushed against the door. To her surprise, it did not open. Another push, with the same result. It then dawned upon her that the spring-bolt had fastened upon the outer side. Feeling carefully about in the pitch darkness, she laid her things upon the shelf and tried to find a way of getting out.

But, push, shake and rattle as she might, it was useless; the door remained tightly fastened.

"Mary," she called, "come and let me out, please."

No response.

"M-a-r-y! I'm locked in; come let me out!"

"What in the whorld is the matter wid ye?" came from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm locked _in_ and can't get out; come and open the door!"

"Och, worra! Don't be callin' to me not to _open_ the door; didn't Oi tell ye Oi wouldn't come near ye, and Oi _won't_. It's goin' down to the bharn Oi am, and ye needn't be for worritin', at all, at all," and receding footsteps proved Mary's words only too true.

"Now, I'm in a pretty fix, am I not? Like enough she won't come back for twenty minutes, and here I've got to stay. Plague take the old bolt!"

What imp of mischief made Mary return to the laundry by the cellar-door, take up her basket of freshly laundered clothes, and, after carrying them up to Mrs. Rockwood's bedroom, go on to her own in the third story to dress for the afternoon, must forever remain a mystery. But this she did, and, as Jean heard her go up the back stairs, beneath which she was securely fastened in the pot-closet, she thumped and pounded with renewed energy. But the only response was:

"No, no; not for the whorld, darlint, would Oi disthurbe ye and spoil yer purty picter."

About an hour later Mrs. Rockwood, returning from her call, met Helen upon the front piazza.

"Has Jean got everything ready to take the pictures?" she asked, eagerly.

"It is such a perfect day for it, and I am so anxious that I can hardly wait. It seems too good to be true that we have really got cameras at last, doesn't it?"

"It seems as though the fairies must have been aware of your great desire to have them, and so took matters into their own hands," replied Mrs.

Rockwood, as she unfastened the front door with her latch-key and held it open for Helen to enter.

As they entered the hall they were greeted with a series of m.u.f.fled thumps and bangs.

"I _do_ wish Mary would remember what I have so often told her about breaking her kindling upon the cellar floor," she exclaimed.

Rattle, rattle! Bang, bang! and then a crash as though the roof were falling.

"What under the sun can be the matter!" exclaimed Mrs. Rockwood.

Just then Mary appeared at the head of the stairs.

"Why, Mary, what is all this noise?"

"Shure, it was comin' down mesilf Oi was to see. Saints presarve us, can there be thieves in the house, Oi do' know!"

"Rather noisy thieves, I should think. Where is Miss Jean?"

"Out in the fields beyant, wid her bit av a camela takin' her picter, Oi'm thinkin'. 'Twas there she said she'd be goin' afther she came out of the pot-closet--saints have mercy! Could she _git_ out at all, at all?" and Mary tore down the stairs, with Mrs. Rockwood and Helen close at her heels. She reached the closet, flung open the door, and beheld a spectacle. Seated on the floor, in the midst of a scattered array of pots, kettles and frying-pans, her box of plates upset, her precious camera in her lap, and blissfully unconscious that the slide was open, sat Jean, a very picture of despair.

"Mighty man! And have ye been in here all this toim, an' not to be smothered dead!" cried Mary.

"How could I be anywhere _else_, I'd like to know?" said Jean, indignantly. "I called and _called_, but I couldn't get you to let me out," and, bouncing up, she scrabbled the plates back into their box, then caught up the camera to see if all was as it should be with that. As she jumped up the slide closed, and, quite unaware that it had ever been open, she announced to her nearly convulsed audience:

"Well, I'm _out_ at last, and now I hope I can take a picture; come on, Helen," little dreaming that the treacherous sunlight, which flashed through the hall window and straight into the pot-closet, had already printed a most perfect one on the plate.

A few moments later both she and Helen were out in the fields back of the house, and had snapped charming little scenes.

Bemoaning her unintentional trick, Mary went back to her work, while Mrs.

Rockwood went up to her room to laugh heartily over the mishap, never suspecting that the funniest part would appear in the sequel.

A half hour later the girls came flying into her room to say, excitedly:

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AN' HAVE YE BEEN IN THERE ALL THIS TIME?"]

"We've taken them! We've taken them!"

"And I know they will be just lovely, for the sun shone right on the trees and the ruins. How I wish we could develop them; don't you, Helen?"

"Yes, I'd like to know how, and, now that I have the camera, I shall get a developing outfit and learn; but let's take these right over to Charlton's and have him develop them for us."

They started for the village to leave the plates to be developed, and waited with what patience they could for the following day, when the photographer promised to send them the proofs.

They came, and one at least was truly a marvel.

In the foreground of Jean's was a pretty clump of fir-trees growing beside an old ruined stone wall, under which nestled a bunch of dry goldenrod.

But the background! Did ever the maddest artist's brain conceive of such?

Clear and distinct, where sky should have been, stood--a frying-pan!

CHAPTER XXIV