ver here and see this."

Aunt Polly was seated before her open trunk, a little white box on her
knees. Meg came and stood beside her.

"This was your great-great Aunt Dorothy's," said Aunt Polly, opening
the little box.

It was lined with blue velvet and on the velvet lay a little gold
locket.

"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed Meg.

The locket was round and set with tiny blue stones that formed three
forget-me-not flowers. In the center of each flower sparkled a tiny
diamond.

"The blue stones are turquoises," explained Aunt Polly. "Great Aunt
Dorothy wore her locket on a bit of black velvet, but I bought this
chain for you. Do you like it, dear?"

"Is it for me?" asked the surprised Meg. "For me, Auntie? Can I wear
it to school and show it to the girls? Oh! can I?"

"It is for you," Aunt Polly assured her small niece, kissing her.
"But, honey, you must be careful of it. Wear it to school one day, if
you want to, and then keep it for special times. You see, you must
save it for your little girl."

"My little girl?" echoed Meg, wonderingly. "Why?"

"Because," explained Aunt Polly seriously, "this locket has always been
handed down to the oldest daughter. Great-great Aunt Dorothy gave it
to her daughter, and she gave it to her oldest daughter and so on.
Some might say I should give it to Dot, because she is named for great
Aunt Dorothy, but you are the oldest daughter. I had it instead of
your mother for that reason. And as I have no daughter, it goes to
you."

Meg ran downstairs to show her gift, and the sleds were forgotten while
the children crowded around to examine the pretty locket.

"You must be very careful of it, Daughter," said Father Blossom. "You
know you've lost two or three trinkets. This is the kind of thing you
can't replace if you lose it."

"I'll be careful," promised Meg, clasping the fine gold chain around
her neck again and dancing off to the kitchen to show her treasure to
Norah.

The next morning it had stopped snowing, but there was, as Sam
remarked, "enough and to spare" of snow for coasting. The minute
breakfast was over the four little Blossoms, warmly bundled up, were
out with their sleds.

Wayne Place hill was a famous coasting hill, and all kinds of children
with all kinds of sleds were on hand to enjoy the first real sledding
of the winter.

"Trade with you, Bobby," called a freckle-faced boy, dragging an old
tin tray.

Bobby grinned.

"Won't trade," he