After a couple of lazy hours, Aunt Mina heaved herself off the ground and bustled about, packing baskets and folding blankets.

“Let’s get picking up here, people. They’ve got the tug-a-war going on down there, and next thing you know, they’ll be announcing the raffle. If we don’t leave now, we’ll get caught in the going-home rush. I, for one, am ready to get home to my own four walls.”

The Buttons started the long trek through the park. Tugs lagged behind, hoping to hear at least who did win the raffle. Had she spelled her name right? Had Mr. Pepper taken her free tickets out so that only paying tickets would be in the box? She fingered her ribbons proudly. Ribbons should be enough. But . . .

Then the band blared and Granddaddy Ike stopped to listen. He was near the front of the Button line, so they all had to stop. The moment the band was finished with its fanfare, Mr. Pepper stood up.

“As the president of the garden club and the art guild, and as proprietor of your hometown photography store — come to Pepper’s for all your photography needs — I am proud to draw names for this year’s raffle prizes — three Kodak Brownie cameras!” He reached his hand into the hat Harvey Moore had lent him for this purpose and drew out a name.

“Mrs. Perkins!” he called. There was applause and a squeal from Mrs. Perkins as she made her way to the stage.

“Orion Ortner!” Another smattering of applause as the town butcher walked to the stage.

“And last but not least, Tugs Button!”

Tugs stood, dumbfounded.

“Tugs Button!” Mr. Pepper said again, and Tugs ran up to the stage.

Mr. Pepper handed her a smart little box, just like the ones she’d unpacked at his store. She opened the cover and lifted out the camera.

“Green!” she said triumphantly. She dropped the box and manual on the step and held the camera out to Mr. Pepper. “Now what?”

Mr. Pepper laughed. “No reading the manual for you, Miss Button?” He opened her camera and wound film into the empty spool while Tugs hopped from foot to foot, looking around to see who was noticing that this was her camera Mr. Pepper was readying.

“Granddaddy Ike! Over here!” she hollered.

“Now, pay attention, Miss Button, so you can do this yourself next time,” Mr. Pepper said.

“Miss Button! Ha, ha, ha!” Tugs snorted. She could sooner fly to the moon than concentrate on Mr. Pepper’s dainty fingers. He’d called her Miss Button! She won the Kodak raffle! The camera was green! Her favorite color! The color of early wheat, and the sky before a summer storm, and moss on stones by the river, and . . . !

“Here you are,” said Mr. Pepper, handing the camera back to Tugs. “Six pictures to a roll, so look and think before you snap. Don’t open the back before the roll is wound clear through. And come to Pepper’s to buy more film.”

Tugs held the camera out in front of her, like a crystal egg. It was so beautiful. Her hands were suddenly slick, and she was afraid she’d drop it. Mr. Pepper laughed.

“This here is the new aluminum model. You aren’t going to hurt it, girly. Now, go have . . .”

But Tugs saw the Millhouses standing near the Buttons just then and left Mr. Pepper at a gallop, forgetting the box and to shout a thank-you over her shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be a chicken’s gizzard,” said her mother.

“Better take that girl to the track,” said her father.

“Are you sure she’s one of us?” asked Granddaddy Ike.

“Sure, I’m sure,” said Tugs. “I got the chompers, don’t I?”

There was no denying it. Tugs had the teeth of a Button — square, wide, and protruding. For as long as anyone could remember, Button children had been teased about their maws. It was one root of their misfortune, the Buttons believed. While other parents sent their children off to school with a kiss and told them to do their best, the Buttons just said, “Don’t get hit by the tater truck.” Which would be nonsense to any other family, but Leonard Button, one of the Swisher Buttons, had indeed looked the wrong way when crossing Main Street some years ago. While he had survived, he hadn’t eaten a potato, mashed or otherwise, since.

It didn’t seem sporting to document failure, so Buttons didn’t own cameras, yet here was Tugs with a fetching green leatherette Kodak No. 2 Brownie F model, loaded with film to boot.

“Hold these ribbons, Aggie,” Tugs commanded. She aimed her Brownie and tried to capture her winnings on film. But Mrs. Millhouse yoo-hooed just then, and Tugs snapped the shutter right as Aggie spun around.

“Dagnabit!” said Tugs.

“Tugs Button — such language!” gasped Mrs. Millhouse, pulling Aggie away. “Come on, sweetness.”

“My ribbons, Aggie!” Tugs yelled. Turning to give them back, Aggie tripped over little Winslow Ward, and they both went sprawling in the dirt.

“Figures,” Burton Ward said to Tugs as he picked up his wailing brother. “You’re such a Button.”

“Sorry!” Aggie called as she was hustled away by her mother. Tugs picked up her trampled ribbons and tucked them in the pocket of her overalls.

“See you next week?” she hollered.

“Going to camp!” Aggie called as she was eclipsed by Harvey Moore and the dispersing crowd. Tugs clicked the shutter again.

Tugs looked down through her camera’s viewfinder and pivoted slowly all the way around and down and up. It was like watching a movie, seeing the bandstand, the bakery, the soft evening sky go by in that tiny frame. These were the same ordinary sights she’d been seeing her whole life, but suddenly they were sharp and beautiful, like little jewels collected in a box. To think — only this morning she’d been an ordinary twelve-year-old girl with snarly hair, gangly limbs, and a propensity for calamity, and now, just hours later, here she stood, Tugs Button: ribbon winner, Kodak owner.

She held the camera at arm’s length, smiled into the eye of its lens, and pressed the exposure lever. Then she turned the winding key until a little number four appeared in the red window on the back.

“Let me see.” Luther Tingvold towered over Tugs, holding out his hand.

“Um,” said Tugs, clutching her camera close. Luther was the leader of the Rowdies.

“I want to see!” hollered Walter Williams, stepping in front of Luther.

“Take our picture, Tugs!” said Finn and Frankie Chacey, making ape faces while trying to shove Walter out of the way.

“Trade you my pocketknife for it,” growled Bess McCrea, the toughest girl in town.

Tugs didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid. No Rowdy had ever said hello to her, much less wanted something she had. Their attention both thrilled and frightened her. She had to do something clever now, say something clever.

“It’s green,” she blurted out.

Finn and Frankie guffawed. Bess shook her head in disgust. Luther shrugged and turned away.

“Last one to the fire hydrant’s a horse’s patoot!” called Walter, and they all took off running.

Tugs aimed her Brownie after them and pushed the lever. She adored the satisfying click it made.

“Now, don’t go getting a swell head,” said Father Button as he took Tugs’s elbow and led her back to the car. “And take your eyes outa those clouds. We got a big day tomorrow — family reunion.”

At home Tugs cleared a spot on her dresser for her camera and tied her ribbons to the drawer pulls so she would see them first thing when she woke.