“We’ll be right down, Aunt Betty.” And with that the girls departed.
In a few moments they came back, and by just glancing at them Aunt Betty knew that the quest had failed.
“No, it is nowhere there,” said Dorothy sadly, “nowhere there.”
“Ring for the manager, dear, and I will see him and see what he suggests doing. The locket is of no value to anyone else. Its main value is in the pictures. I am very sorry I have no other copy of them. I have a picture of your father when he was younger, a mere boy at our Baltimore home, Bellevieu, but I never had another picture of your mother, dear,” said Aunt Betty.
The manager came now in response to their call, and Aunt Betty told him of the loss of the locket, and wherein its value lay. He was very sorry indeed to hear of the loss, but felt hopeful that he could restore the locket to them in the course of an hour or two.
Dorothy turned to Aunt Betty as the manager left the room, and flung herself weeping into her lap.
“Dear, dear child,” soothed Aunt Betty, “don’t be foolish, dear. There are still hopes of its being found.”
“But they are the only pictures I ever had of them,” bemoaned the little girl. The dear old lady took the young girl in her arms and comforted her with hopeful suggestion and loving words of encouragement.