Eunice and Cricket

Two eager heads bent over a small, square, black object that stood on the stone post at the foot of the doorsteps.

“‘Hold the camera steady and push the lever,’” read the brown-eyed girl with the long, dark braid, from the little pamphlet she held in her hand. “Look down in the little round hole, Cricket; you can see the picture perfectly. Isn’t it the cutest thing?”

Cricket squinted down critically.

“It’s going to be perfectly jolly,” she cried enthusiastically. “Now stand still as mice, children, while I count three.”

“Stand still as a mice, Helen,” immediately admonished the small girl in the dark red coat, giving a great pinch to the little golden-haired, brown-clad lassie who stood beside her, by way of emphasising her older sister’s words. “Stand still as a mice, Johnnie-goat,” giving the third member of the group a tickle on the back that made him drop his curved horns for more.

“Keep still ‘as a mice,’ yourself,” said Cricket, tapping Miss Red-coat briskly on the head. “All ready, Eunice. ‘You push the button, and we’ll do the rest,’” she quoted, clapping her hands in her favourite fashion. “Hooray! there she goes! Oh, I hope it will be good! That’s all, Zaidie and Helen. You stood beautifully. Run along now. Can’t you go around to the stable and take Johnnie-goat back, ’Liza?”

Eunice swept the trio a low bow.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnnie-goat, for standing still so long,” she said, addressing the horned member of the party. “I hope your picture will be very good,” she added, picking up the camera with a highly professional air.

“Take me again,” demanded Zaidie instantly, when Cricket told her once more that they were through with this wonderful process, and that they might go. “I like having my picture tooken. Don’t you, Helen? Let’s sit on Johnnie-goat, and be tooken again,” and Zaidie tried to climb upon the goat’s white back. This, however, was a familiarity which Johnnie could not think of permitting, even from his best friends. He instantly sidled off, not wishing to hurt her feelings by a direct butt. Zaidie unexpectedly sat down on the ground.

“No, we don’t want any more pictures of you now, thank you,” said Eunice, examining her Kodak, while Zaidie demanded a view of the one already taken.

“She thinks it’s like putting a penny in the slot and a picture drops out. This isn’t that kind, my dear. There’s a lot of hard, hard work before you see that picture,” said Cricket importantly.

The day before had been Eunice’s birthday, and this Kodak, which had been a long-desired possession, was a birthday present. As it was given to them entirely ready for use, they had literally nothing to do but “press the button.”

Papa had been too busy that morning to explain the mysterious little affair very particularly, but he told the children to study the pamphlet carefully, and follow directions closely. Eunice and Cricket promptly sat down and read the pamphlet from title-page to finis.

Both looked a little blank when they had finished. Could they ever remember all those instructions?

“It’s all plain enough,” said Eunice meditatively, “but the question is, how are we going to remember it all at important times? Now, for instance, about the stops. Listen: ‘Snapshots can only be made when the largest stop is in the lens.’ Will you remember that, Cricket?”

“We might just sit down and learn the whole thing off by heart,” suggested Cricket, wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully.

“Horrors, no!” returned Eunice. “Learn all that? Let’s just carry the pamphlet around with us all the time. If we take the camera anywhere, we can certainly take the book, too. Now let’s go and take a picture.”

“It’s easier to take them out doors, everybody says,” answered Cricket, jumping up. “There’s ’Liza starting out to walk with the twins. Let’s go and take them sitting on the front doorsteps.”

The twins, of course, were perfectly delighted at the idea of having their pictures taken. Zaidie straightway sat herself down on the lowest step, with her hands firmly folded in her lap, and her feet out straight before her, trying vainly to keep the smile out of her dimpled face.

“I don’t want you that way,” said Eunice, laughing, as she turned around. “You must get in some romantic attitude. No, I don’t mean romantic, but picturesque.”

“Couldn’t I be sliding down the railing?” suggested Zaidie eagerly, thinking she saw a chance to indulge in her favourite amusement. “Wouldn’t that be pick-chesk?”

“You can’t slide down no railings, pick-chesk or no pick-chesk,” put in Eliza, promptly.

“You couldn’t, anyway,” said Cricket, “because you have to sit still, Zaidie. You can’t hop around when you have your picture taken. Don’t you remember?”

“Zaidie, you stand up by the post,” began Eunice, when Cricket interrupted her.

“Look! There’s Johnnie-goat trotting up the street. Do let’s have him in. He would be picturesque.”

“S’pose he’d stand still?” asked Eunice doubtfully. “I don’t want to spoil my picture.”

Johnnie-goat was a very celebrated character in the neighbourhood. He belonged to a livery-stable that was on the square back of the Wards. He was famous for eating off his rope and running away. He was a big white goat, with unusually long horns, and a very inquiring disposition. He was such a ridiculous fellow, too, sometimes munching sedately at a stray banana-skin or orange-peel, then kicking up his heels as if an invisible imp had tickled him, and walking off on his forefeet. He was a very discerning goat, also, and knew perfectly well his friends from his enemies. He had goodwill for the one, and butts for the other. One way that he knew his friends was that they always wore dresses, while his enemies were clad in trousers. That was one invariable mark. Then, his friends gave him apples to eat, and scratched the sensitive place between his horns that he couldn’t possibly reach himself, and which, therefore, was seldom properly scratched. His enemies usually saluted him with stones, and offered him tin cans to eat. Now Johnnie-goat was perfectly willing to acknowledge that he could eat tin cans on occasions, but they were not his favourite diet, and he didn’t care much for them. He regarded it as something of an insult to be constantly offered them. It was one thing, if he chose occasionally to pick one up himself and see if he liked the brand, but he decidedly objected to having them so often forced on his attention.

The result of all this was, that Johnnie-goat’s disposition was somewhat mixed. Like some people whom we have known, when he was good he was very good indeed, but when he was bad he was simply terrific. He seemed to know no middle course.