large cupboard in the attic into her dark-room, and spent many hours
dabbling among chemicals. She had urgent offers of help, but rejected
them steadfastly, greatly to the disappointment of her would-be
assistants. Her sanctum became a veritable Bluebeard's chamber, for to
prevent possible accidents she locked the door, and kept the key
perpetually in her pocket during the day time, sleeping with it under
her pillow at night. In the summer she meant to try all kinds of
experiments. She had visions of rigging up a shelter made of leaves and
branches, and taking a series of magnificent snap-shots of wild birds
and animals, like those in the books by Cherry Kearton, and she
certainly intended to secure records of the sports at school. In the
meantime she must content herself with landscape and still life. "I'll
have one of the de Claremont tomb, at any rate," she resolved.

The de Claremont tomb was the glory of Ashbourne Church. It was of white
marble, and beautifully sculptured. Sir Guy de Claremont lay represented
in full armor, with his lady in ruff and coif by his side. Six sons and
four daughters, all kneeling, were carved in has relief round the side
of the monument. Long, long ago, in the Middle Ages, the de Claremonts
had been the great people of the neighborhood. They had fought in the
Crusades, had taken their part in the wars of the Barons, had declared
for the White Rose in the struggle with the House of Lancaster, and cast
in their lot for the King against Oliver Cromwell. The family was
extinct now, and their lands had passed to others, but a few tattered
banners and an old helmet still hung on the wall of the side chapel,
above the tomb, testifying to their former achievements. From her seat
in church Winona had a good view of the monument. She admired it
immensely, and had often woven romances about the good knights of old
who had carried those banners to the battle-field. She felt that she
would like to secure a satisfactory photo. She started off one morning