on which was a beautifully executed miniature of
a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.

``Oh, how pretty!'' exclaimed Marie, over
Billy's shoulder. ``But what are they?''

The collector turned, his face alight.

``Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would
you like to see them--really? They're right here.''

The next minute Marie found herself looking
into a cabinet where lay a score or more of round
and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on
long spikes.

``Oh, how pretty,'' cried Marie again; ``but
how--how queer! Tell me about them, please.''

William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened.
William loved to talk--when he had a curio
and a listener.

``I will. Our great-grandmothers used them,
you know, to support their mirrors, or to fasten
back their curtains,'' he explained ardently.
``Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it
isn't so good as my new ones--that face is almost
a caricature.''