The Iron Age
The woman who secretly treasured Ali Baba's flowers was a wise little lady, and understood, of course, and said nothing.
But as time went on, one fine day she and her Ali Baba fell out, as all young people will. Peggy may or may not have been at the bottom of it, for the working of a woman's heart is an inscrutable mystery to man.
"Good-night—and good-bye," cried Ali Baba's sweetheart imperiously, through her tears. "I can—I can never see you again. Hereafter," with a pitiful little gulp, "hereafter our paths must part. And if you call I shall not be in—there!"
"Very well, dear, if you're bound to be silly," said Ali Baba, cheerily. "But I'm coming up to play with Peggy every day. Now if I loved you, Peggy, you would n't throw me over, would you, little one?"
A sudden pallor swept over the listening child's face. Poor little Peggy, she did n't know that the tenderness of tone in that question was meant for other ears. She clung to Ali Baba in a moment's passion of
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