“Now, then, Billy, how about my treasure room?”
“Ready, sir,” answered Billy, working himself out from among his pillows.
“Once,” said Mr. Prescott, walking close by Billy, “I went into a room something like this, only it had many more things in it. The room was in Sir Walter Scott’s house. He had one of Napoleon’s pistols from Waterloo.
“He called his room an armory. I generally call mine my ‘treasure room.’”
“I think I like armory better,” said Billy.
“Then,” said Mr. Prescott, “will you walk into my armory?”
“First of all,” said Billy, “I want to see that gun—musket.”
“Here it is,” said Mr. Prescott. “There,” he added, pointing to a picture in an oval brass frame, “is my great-great-grandfather.”
“Oh!” said Billy.
Then Mr. Prescott knew that Billy had never before seen a silhouette.