picture of that expression!" she cried. "And that reminds me,--I told
all the boys to be at the Spring in fifteen minutes. There is plenty
of light for a snap-shot and I've just a few films left."

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, haven't you done enough tramping to-day?" her
grandmother exclaimed. "You ought to rest."

Blue Bonnet shook her head. "I can't rest till I get that picture. I
want the boys and the We are Sevens on the little rustic bridge. Now,
Sarah, don't you dare tidy up till I get you just as you are. I want
you to pose as Terrible Tom the Texas Terror."

That Sarah had her own opinion as to who the Texas Terror might be was
shown by her expression as she relinquished her design of brushing her
hair, and followed the other girls up the hill to the Big Spring.

The boys were already assembled and were now grouped on the bridge in
attitudes meant to be artistic and fetching.

The rustic bridge--rather more rustic than substantial--was suspended
just over a pretty waterfall, which slipped down a smooth runway of
eight or ten feet into a pool all foam and spray; a charming spot for
a group-picture. It required both skill and patience to get every one
posed and the camera focussed; Blue Bonnet had just completed these
preliminaries, when Alec upset everything by insisting that he should
be the photographer and she a member of the group. The rest supported
his contention that she should be in the picture, and in the argument
that followed, the chances for any picture at all grew slim.

Just then Uncle Joe appeared, and was at once pressed into service.
Blue Bonnet gave explicit directions as to the precise moment at which
the bulb was to be pressed, and then proceeded to join the rest who
were in the agonies of trying to look pleasant.

"Do hurry, Blue Bonnet," urged Sarah nervously, "I can hear the bridge
creaking."

A roar of derision followed this declaration and some of the smaller
boys began stamping on the old timbers for the sheer joy of seeing
poor Sarah quake. At the precise moment that Blue Bonnet stepped from
the bank to her place by the rail, there was a loud report, followed
by a scream.

Uncle Joe, looking up from the reflector, saw the bridge parted neatly
in the middle, and the entire party shooting the chutes in a most
informal manner. By the time the first boy had finished the descent,
Uncle Joe was in the water fishing out the gasping victims. The pool
was not deep, but the swift fall carried th