olish. This box dwelt on the second shelf of the old what-not, which,
in turn, stood in the closet passage underneath the stairs. When any
accident befell our garment fastenings, "Go and get the button box,"
mother said, as she reached for her needle. Or, on rainy days, when we
grew more and more restless and all other devices failed, "You may go
and get the button box," mother would say, and we were solaced till
supper time.

No modern patent sewing-table receptacle could possibly hold one
quarter of the contents of that button box, the accumulation of at
least three generations. It was heavy, and having no handles, you had
to grasp it with open palms on either side--hence the polish. It
rattled when taken down from its shelf, and the very first thing you
did when the lid was off was to plunge your two hands down into the
mass, and let fistfuls of buttons trickle through your fingers.

Sometimes we played it was a treasure chest, and these buttons were
Spanish doubloons. Sometimes we trickled them just for the cool feel
of it, the sound of the rattle, the sensation of plunging fingers
into the oddly liquid mass. There were great steel buttons, little
pearl buttons, white bone buttons, black suspender buttons, cloth
buttons, silk buttons, crocheted buttons, elongated crystal buttons
(which we held to the light "to make prisms"), lovely agate buttons,
brass military buttons with the U. S. eagle upon them, wooden buttons,
either once covered or yet to be covered, shoe buttons (which
invariably were in practical demand and invariably had sunk to the
bottom of the box), strange great buttons from some long-forgotten
garment of grandmother's, familiar buttons from some newly remembered
garment of our own.

It seems odd, when I think of it now, the endless delight we children
got just from the contemplation and discussion of those buttons.
Sometimes, of course, we picked out the suitable ones, and strung them
in long chains. Sometimes we used them for counters in games. But
often we just turned them over and over, or tipped them out on a paper
spread on the floor, and from the hints they gave us reconstructed
ancient garments or recalled forgotten clothes of our own.

"Oh, that one used to be on my winter jacket!"

"Look, here's one of papa's pants buttons--it says 'Macullar and
Parker' on it!"

"Hi, there's my old brown overcoat!"

"Oh, dear, I wish I still had that pretty gray suit, with those steel
buttons on it!"