They looked up the road a way, because some
thought the locket might have flown off before the sled upset; they
hunted over every inch of the ground where they had been spilled out,
for Dave was sure it must be there. But though they looked in possible
and impossible places, no sign of the dainty gold locket with the
turquoise forget-me-nots and the diamond dewdrops in their centers
could the children find.
"Half-past five," announced Dave presently. "Awfully sorry, Meg, but
your locket must be lost in the snow. It's too dark and too late to
hunt any more now. You run along home and don't worry; maybe you'll
get another one next Christmas."
"He doesn't know that this was great Aunt Dorothy's," said Meg sadly.
A very solemn little procession turned in at the Blossom front gate,
for Dot and Twaddles were depressed, too. Bobby was towing both sleds
and looked as sober as a judge.
"How late you are!" Aunt Polly, reading by the fireplace in the
living-room, called to them as she heard the front door open. "Your
mother began to worry about you. Is the coasting good?"
"Yes, I guess so," answered Bobby vaguely.
Twaddles sat down on the floor to pull off his rubber boots.
"Meg lost her locket!" he announced, seeing no reason why bad news
should be concealed, especially when he was not to blame for it.
Mother Blossom came downstairs just in time to hear this.
"Meg lost her locket!" she repeated. "Not great Aunt Dorothy's? Oh,
Meg, and I told you not to wear it out coasting!"
Poor Meg's tears came faster.
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