These are not the toys of Mabel Watson Payne, though they inhabit the same apartment she does. They are souvenirs, too small for toys, accumulated one by one over the years (privately meaningful to their owners, her parents, but to no one else) now kept on high or remote shelves where they will not tempt a baby to ingest them. And winkled out by me for my own amusement (without permission, I must in honesty add) during morning nap time today.