December and January were scarcely propitious months for the taking of snap-shots, but Winona attempted some time exposures, with varying results.  It was difficult to make the children realize the necessity of keeping absolutely still, and they spoilt several of her plates by grinning or moving.  She secured quite a nice photo of the house, however, and several of the village, and promised herself better luck with family portraits when the summer came round again.  She turned a 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 at about half-past eleven, when the light was likely to be best.

It was a sunny day, and wonderfully bright for January.  She had meant to go alone, but the children were on the look-out, and tracked her, so she arrived at the church door closely followed by Letty, Mamie, Godfrey, Ernie and Dorrie.  She hesitated for a moment whether to send them straight home or not, but the church was a mile from Highfield, and the mill weir, a place of fascination to Ernie, lay on the way, so she decided that it would be safest to let well alone.