"Did his--it does not really matter" (I felt the essentials were all
right and that I must not ask too much of life)--"but did his hair
curl?"
Aunt Emmy drew out of her bosom a little locket, hanging by a thin gold
chain, with a forget-me-not in blue enamel on it, and opened it. Inside
was a curl of chestnut hair. It was not tied in the shape of a curl. It
was a real curl.