"Ain't they big gold buttons, put very close together?" asked his wife. "Why, no," replied Peter. "They ain't buttons at all--not one of them. Surely I ought to know buttons, when they _are_ buttons. I can't make out these things exactly. But they're handsome, however." Mr. Dodcomb now began to laugh. "I'll tell you," said he, "the history of these new-fashioned ornaments. It was a bright idea of the actor's own when he was planning his new dress. He went to one of the great hardware stores in Market Street, and bought I don't know how many gross of those shining covers that are put over the screw-holes of bedsteads to hide the screws, and that are fastened on by a small thing at the top of each, like a loop, having a hole for a little screw, to fix them tight in their places. And these holes in the loops were just convenient for the needle to go through when they were sewed on to the dress. So you see what a good show they make now." "Of all contrivances!" exclaimed Peter. "To think that bed-screw covers should trim so well!" "Wonders will never cease!" ejaculated Mrs. Jones. And whenever the actor reappeared, she jogged her husband, and reminded him that "here came the man all over bed-screws." "What beautiful lace cuffs and collars all those gentlemen have, that are gallanting the ladies to the feast!" said Mrs. Jones. "Cut paper, my dear--only cut paper," replied Mrs. Dodcomb. "Sally Flimbrey cuts them out herself--don't you, Sally?" Miss Flimbrey (who was not proud), nodded in the affirmative--"You would never guess," said she, "my dear Mrs. Jones, what odd contrivances they have--did you observe the milk-maid's pail in the cottage scene?" "Yes--it was full to the brim of fine frothy new milk--I should like to have taken a drink of it." "You would have found it pretty hard to swallow, for it was only cotton wadding," said Miss Flimbrey. "Well now! if ever I heard the beat of that!" interjected Mrs. Jones. "How do you like the thunder and lightning?" said Mr. Dodcomb to Mr. Jones. "It's fine," replied Peter, "and very natural." "I'll tell you what it is," replied Dodcomb, "the lightning is made by sprinkling a handful of powdered rosin into a ladle heated over a pan of charcoal. A man stands between the scenes and does it whenever a flash is wanted. The thunder is produced by a pair of cannon balls joined across a bar to which is fixed a long wooden handle like the tongue of a child's basket wagon, and by this the balls are pushed and hauled about the floor behind the back scene." "Astonishing!" exclaimed Mr. Jones. "But the rattling of the rain--_that_ sounds just as if it was real." "The rain!" answered Mr. Dodcomb. "Oh, the rain is done by a tall wooden case, something on the plan of a great hour glass, lined with tin and filled half full with small shot, which when the case is set on end, dribbles gradually down and rattles as it falls."