Polly's face fell.

"Oh, that was nothing," said Polly, "such a little bit of a while
doesn't count."

"Well, let us take pictures as fast as we can," suggested Jasper, "and
then when we do come up with Adela, why you'll have yours done."

So Polly roused out of her dejection and set to work, and presently the
hay-makers, and the Marken boys and girls, the funny little houses that
looked as if they dropped down pellmell from the clouds and settled
where they had dropped--the high ridges along which the men and boys,
walking in their full baggy trousers, looked as if they were blown up,
and formed a Dutch perspective perfectly awful--all these queer,
delightful things were presently imprisoned in the two kodaks.

Jasper looked up. "There, that's my last picture," he declared. "At any
rate, for now."

"Oh, one more! I must get a good picture of those girls raking hay."
Polly ran off a few steps and sat down on a log to focus. The Marken
girls happened to look up, and immediately whirled around and presented
their backs to her.

"Oh, dear, how hateful!" she exclaimed; "that would have been a
splendid picture."

"Never mind," said Jasper; "you can catch them unawares, and have
another try at them."