“I don’t know,” said the senator. “But it’s good.”
“Aladdin wrote it,” said Margaret.
“Upon my word!” said the senator.
Margaret knelt and threw her arms about her father’s neck and blushed a lovely blush.
“Isn’t it splendid?”
There was a ring at the front door, and a telegram was brought in.
“Read it, Peggy,” said the senator. He used that name only when moved about something. The despatch was from the senator’s youngest son, Hannibal, and read:
Do not worry; we are singing Bispham up a tree.
“And Aladdin wrote the song!” cried Margaret. “Aladdin wrote it!”
The senator’s face clouded for a moment. He forced the cloud to pass.