“In the absence of any special instructions from your father, Harry,” said Mr. Douglass, as they walked over toward the entrance of the Fair Grounds on the following morning, “I have so far let you have your own way. I think that Mr. Blake perhaps forgot that his letter of instructions would not arrive at Chicago until we had been here at least a week.

“Now that we have a general idea of the display, of the grounds and their arrangement, I think it would be wise to go at them a little more systematically. What do you think?”

“I should like that better,” said Philip. “I feel all the time that we are missing some good things, and seeing poorer ones twice over. Don’t you, Harry?”

“I suppose so,” Harry answered slowly; “but I find it all too much for me. I find myself thinking more of the people I see than of the show.”

“Let us go and see some one part more especially,” Mr. Douglass suggested; “some part that we know less about than we have learned of the larger buildings. How would you like to look at some of the larger State buildings?”

“I’d like it,” Harry agreed. “But I’ll tell you what, while Philip was using his camera yesterday I wanted one ‘like sixty.’ Why can’t I hire one?”

“You can,” the tutor answered. “Where do we go to get it, Philip?”

“To the free dark-rooms back of the Horticultural. We can walk there: it isn’t far from where we usually go in; or, if you want to go in a new way, we can keep outside until we get to the proper entrance.”

All three were willing; and, keeping outside of the high board fence topped with several lines of barbed wire, they walked on for two or three blocks above the main entrance. The street was lined by booths for the sale of the omnipresent souvenirs—glass paper-weights, watch-charms, canes, lockets, and every sort of cheap knickknack; and these booths were elbowed by temporary shops and stands made to serve for restaurants, fruit-stands, shooting-galleries, tintype-galleries, cake-kitchens,—all the cheap-John establishments that could find room to claim a nickel from the passers-by.

Coming to the entrance they sought, they met a young man in a blue uniform and cap showing that he was an agent of the Photographic Department. Harry paid him two dollars, and received a “hand-camera permit, good for that day only,” the date being stamped on it in green ink. They found themselves, after passing the gates, not far from the photographic rooms. Here Harry secured a small, easily handled kodak, upon which Mr. Douglass made a deposit of ten dollars.

“Now,” said Harry, “I’ll show you how cameras are handled by experts.”

“But remember,” the tutor reminded him, “that you are here to-day with the intention of going through some State buildings at least. Don’t think mainly of taking snap-shots.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Harry replied, more seriously; “I only mean to take pictures of the groups of people here and there—especially the children. Children are always so interesting when they are at a place like this.”

Mr. Douglass smiled at the boy’s grown-up airs, but said nothing more.

“Come,” said Philip, “I want to go over to the Manufactures Building. I saw in my magazine that one could register there, and I’m going to do it. Besides, I haven’t been in the galleries of that building yet, and I’d like to go. We won’t stay long, and we can meet there if we should separate for a while.”

They entered by the north door, climbed into the gallery, and found that some of the periodicals had arranged tasteful little rooms for the accommodation of the public. People entered these small compartments with a homelike feeling that was very pleasant to see. There were tables and chairs, books for the registry of visitors, and glass cases showing magazine- and book-work in full detail, besides many other things connected more or less directly with the subjects of the books and articles published. But, intending to return again, the boys did not linger over the exhibits, pausing only long enough to register their names. Here Mr. Douglass remained to talk to one of the attendants, as he expected some letters to be addressed to him in care of that exhibit, and the boys started together for the National and State buildings.

These filled a large part of the grounds around the great art galleries.

Their first visit was to the house devoted to Great Britain. They marched boldly up to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

A guard came forward and politely told them that on this morning the building was open only on presentation of a card. The boys turned to go out, but one of the gentlemen in charge—a handsome young Englishman—courteously invited them to go through the rooms. They gladly accepted his invitation and guidance.

“This,” he told the young Americans, so politely that for the moment they almost regretted the famous “tea-party” in Boston harbor,—“is called Victoria House by the Queen’s own wish. It represents a manor-house of the Tudor period, of about Queen Elizabeth’s time; but was made by a Chicago firm.” Then he went on to call their attention to the fine ceilings, fireplaces, staircases, and inlaid cabinets; and the boys found the house full of richly carved woodwork and furniture. Of the chairs, one was a model of that in which King Charles sat during his trial in Westminster Hall, and others were quite as well worth attention, among them being chairs designed for the use of Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales.

Our sturdy young Americans gazed with becoming reverence upon all this elegance and grandeur, took a few notes of what they had seen, and walked down the steps much gratified by the attention shown them.

“Where next?” said Harry, at the same time taking a deft snap-shot at some little folks in the road before the door.

“Germany comes next,” answered Philip, holding up a fluttering map.

“Sprechen Sie deutsch?” said Harry. “If you do, come along.”

Entering the imposing German Building, they found at last some of the foreigners as to whom they had been inquiring. No sooner were they inside the door than guttural accents assured them that there were foreigners at the great World’s Fair. The hallway was full of German publications, and in a lower story were many religious figures, modeled life-size and colored. Taking a stairway to the right, the boys came to a lofty mechanical clock, called a “Passion Play Clock,” because figures, moved by machinery, went through a representation of the crucifixion. They heard a woman say, “Oh, I wish it was going! Don’t you?” Then they descended the stairs again, and, returning to the main hall, they noticed a very beautiful stained-glass window at the further end. The middle panel showed Christ walking on the water, and those above and below contained modern steamships. A placard stated that the window was to be presented to the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

Coming out, they were met by a puzzled woman, who inquired in a dazed way:

“Where is that Anthropo—I don’t know the name?”

“’Way down at the other end, madam,” answered Philip, politely raising his cap. To which the woman responded despairingly, “Oh, my!” and wandered off.

“They never get much beyond ‘Anthropo,’” said Harry; “and I don’t blame them. I heard one of the guides the other day confidently call it ‘Anthro-polo-logical’ and look proud. But this isn’t photography,” and he turned his back to the sun and held his camera in readiness. Snap! went the shutter, and then they walked on.

“What did you take?” Philip asked.

“I’m not telling,” said Harry, slyly. “I may be new at this business, but at least I know enough to keep dark until the negative is developed. ‘Don’t count your negatives before they’re developed’ is my motto as an amateur photographer!”

“Here’s the French Building,” said Philip; “and isn’t it French, though? See the green grass, trees, and fountain in the middle. Let’s go in and see it. It is sure to be good.”

They found the French Building, as Philip expected, both artistic and interesting. There was an exhibit of transparent photographs on glass, explaining the method of measuring and describing criminals so that they may be always identified after being once in the hands of the police. Here was a panel devoted wholly to queer noses; next came one upon eyes, or chins, or foreheads, each with a line of explanation in French, which Harry translated. Then there was a wax figure before a camera, giving a vivid idea of the way these photographs were secured. A camera upon a very high tripod stood over another figure representing a body found dead—to explain how a picture-record is made of such cases.

There were specimens of the work of invalids, probably hospital patients, and around another part of the building were large paintings showing views of city squares and streets. The whole building was a proof of the skill of the French in arranging exhibits both sensibly and artistically, so that they would be both easy to view and pleasant to behold.

A room devoted to relics of Lafayette was marked “Closed,” for which the boys were sorry. They gave the French-Building a good mark in their note-books, and went away wishing they could give more time to it—the best proof of excellence.

They had intended next to see the Massachusetts house; but that also was not open, and they went by it on their way to New York’s mansion. Entering the great door, they noted first a pavement of tessellated blocks in which were set the signs of the zodiac in brass, finely modeled. Just before them they saw a long line of people crowding toward an enormous book that looked at least half a foot thick. A sign told them that they should register and have their names published in the “Daily Columbian,” the Fair paper, as a means of finding old acquaintances.

“Here she goes!” cried Harry, as he took his place at the end of the queue, with Philip next. They could see the book from where they stood, and were much amused, though a little impatient, to see the painstaking efforts of country folks to write a creditable signature. One nice old lady dotted an “i” at least three times, and each time with due deliberation.

As each visitor wrote name, temporary address, and home address, Harry had to wait several minutes for his turn. The result was that he scrawled his own name in a great hurry rather than keep others waiting. Then he went half-way up the stairs, and took two short-time exposures toward the registering crowd. He doubted whether he could get anything worth preserving, but thought he would risk it.

Then Philip and he went up-stairs to the banqueting-room—a stately apartment of which the boys were patriotically proud. Other rooms—one a colonial drawing-room with an old spinning-wheel, and an old cannon that was “fired at the births and deaths of members of the Rensselaer family,” and the other a more modern apartment—fittingly flanked the central apartment.

“Well, we’ve got a splendid building,” remarked Philip, with a sense of satisfaction.

“Yes, sir,” said Harry; “the old ‘Empire State’ always comes up smiling and takes a front seat right next to the band-wagon”; but he, too, was glad that his State was so creditably housed.

Pennsylvania, with a great “Keystone” on the front, was next in their pilgrimage; and here they found the genuine old Philadelphia Liberty Bell occupying the post of honor in the vestibule. Though “marred and bruised by many a thump,” the boys gazed upon it with genuine reverence. No American boy could see it without something of the thrill in his veins that is the old bell’s due.

As they were gazing speechless upon it, a man behind them tried to express what all felt. He began, “That is the bell that—that rang, reverberating down through”—but here words failed him, and he passed silently on, a good though speechless patriot.

Up-stairs they found tired Philadelphians in welcome quiet and seclusion. Even in the “Press-Correspondents’ Room” pens moved with Quaker-like dignity over the paper; indeed, one kindly old lady, on looking in at the door, remarked with sympathy; “Ah, yes, I see; people writing home to their friends!”

In another up-stairs room were shown the original charter to William Penn,—a beautiful piece of antique writing,—and the Constitution of the State of Pennsylvania. Attached to the charter was a large wax seal, labeled over two hundred years old.

“Pretty old wax, isn’t it?” said a quiet man near Harry.

“Yes—waxing old,” the boy replied; but as the man gazed upon him in puzzled surprise, the boy moved off, rather ashamed of his forwardness.

Going out, they noticed General Greene’s Revolutionary battle-flag, “baptized in the enemy’s smoke” at Bunker Hill. They visited the Ohio Building, also, and then walked toward the Art Gallery; and Harry tried a snap-shot again. This time it was at a chubby youngster who walked before them, carrying two packages of lunch, while his parents walked beside him. Winding up the film, the boys set forward at a rapid pace toward the California Building, pausing only to admire the great logs that formed a foundation to the structure the residents of the new State of Washington had proudly built. The California house was like the pictures of old Spanish Missions; it had an arched doorway, tiled roof, and fine tower.

Though they spent a long time in this building, they were dissatisfied when they came away. There was “so much too much” to see. A relief-map of San Francisco, the knight “Sir Preserved Prunes,” the grizzly bear modeled from life, the piece of Laura Keene’s skirt showing dark stains where Lincoln’s bleeding head had rested, the exhibits of school-work,—drawing, modeled maps, and exercises,—and especially the stage-robbery exhibition made by the Wells Fargo Express Co., delighted both the boys. Then, too, there were paintings—one of Leland Stanford driving the last railroad-spike uniting the Central Pacific and the Union Pacific railroads, several of scenes in midwinter, showing trees in full leaf—in short, the California show sent two Eastern youngsters away full of hearty admiration for the young giant of the far Pacific coast.

But by this time, useful knowledge was palling upon the two friends, and they gladly agreed to go back to the Eskimo village, which they had seen just as they turned south toward the Californian mission-house. They deposited two quarters, surrendered two tickets, and walked into Greenland, only to be disappointed in the show. The sledge was upon wheels, which the boys hadn’t bargained for—though they hardly expected real ice-floes; and the row of bark huts were dark and commonplace. The natives themselves looked furry and real, and the reindeer and dogs were interesting.

Two of the Eskimos, one the well-known young “Prince,” held whips in their hands, ready to dislodge coins that might be set up as targets. Harry threw down a five-cent piece. The man stuck it up on edge, and then the whip-cracking resounded through the air. Judging by the number of shots they made unsuccessfully, Harry calculated that a five-dollar bill would have lasted them a month; but he didn’t try it.

As they passed the building called “The Bureau of Public Comfort,” Harry tried a shot at some people who were eating lunch upon the grass.

Later, he saw a young girl with a kodak making for the middle of one of the bridges, and walked after her, hoping to take a picture of her while she herself was snapping the button. As she leaned against the parapet and leveled the camera, Harry saw that he could get a pretty negative, and himself took the young photographer.

On their way home the boys walked through Horticultural Hall, with its palm-trees, its flowers, and its lofty glass dome. By this time, however, they had learned to see without noticing, and they decided to come back some other day if they had time—a resolution already made in regard to perhaps one hundred and fifty equally absorbing collections.

But there were several fine groups of sculpture. One the boys felt was full of sentiment and beauty; it was called “The Sleep of the Flowers,” and meant to be typical of autumn. The drooping of the vegetation and the lethargy of the coming winter were admirably translated into the action of the figures.

“Philip,” said Harry, “we ought to see all these groups—everywhere.”

“Harry,” replied his cousin, “we are doing our level best.” And, consoled by this thought, they rejoined Mr. Douglass and went home.