he name and date printed on it, of
the lady and the occasion she wore the gown. So on the back of each of
these pieces is still to be found the printing of that ancestress of
mine."

"Oh, isn't this interesting!" exclaimed Polly, eagerly.

And Eleanor asked: "Where are the other quilts?"

"We don't exactly know what happened to the others she made; but this one
came right down from grandmother's mother to her, then to my mother, and
now to me."

"Would any price tempt you to sell it?" asked Polly.

"Nothin' on earth, whiles I live. But I haven't any children, and
goodness only knows what will become of the dear old heirloom. Why did
you ask?"

"How I would love to own it! Not for its value in money but really to
hold it as a precious patriotic reminder of those days when the ladies,
even though they dressed fine and had good times, performed such heroic
and almost super-human deeds for the Army," explained Polly.

Mrs. Johnson gazed keenly at the girl's face for a few moments, then
said: "Tell me your name and address: I am going to write it out now,
that this quilt is to be yours any time I die; and you must be as careful
of it as we have been. Always keep tar-paper, or tobacco in it, during
summer when moths fly about."

Polly thanked the lady very seriously and promised to be most careful of
it in every way, but she said she hoped Mrs. Johnson would live a long
time to enjoy the quilt as her own family relic.

On the drive back through Morristown that day, Mrs. Fabian had Carl stop
at Mr. Van Styne's auction rooms, but the old man was not in, and the
door was locked. A sheet of paper tacked inside the sash of the door,
announced that the owner was at Parsippany numbering household goods for
an auction to be held in two weeks' time.

Mrs. Fabian made a note of the name and location of the house where the
sale was to be held, and came back to the automobile. She showed the
paper to the girls, and said:

"We'll try to get out here for that sale. But I'll write Mr. Van Styne
first, and ask him what sort of things the people have."

"Yes, it would be silly to come so far and find the house contained
nothing but horrid old modern stuff," said Eleanor.

Arriving home, late that afternoon, Mrs. Fabian was given a letter sent
from the old auctioneer at Morristown. He had kept his word and notified
the young collectors of the sale about to be held at Parsippany: the sale
they had heard about that day.

"He sa