The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

are. Let’s give them a warm welcome.”
    Bob and Barbara smiled their appreciation of the applause, then as quickly as possible tuned their guitars and sang:

“The silver moon shone through the crepe myrtle tree,
And a nightingale sang to my Mary and me.
‘We’ll marry in August, my wee lass,’ said I,
‘On a day the sun shines, with no clouds in the sky.’
Shy she was, Mary,
My little white dove,
Golden-haired Mary,
My only true love.

“In the moonlight she put her dear head on my shoulder,
To give her consent; then I happily told her
I’d build a small home for her, claim my sweet wife,
And work with her, serve her throughout all my life.
Shy she was, Mary,
My little white dove,
Golden-haired Mary,
My only true love.”

    The twins stopped singing and drew beautiful, dreamy chords from their guitars, running softly up and down the scale till the audience burst into spontaneous applause. Then they sang the last verse slowly, wistfully:

“Alas, oh, my pretty one, alas, oh, my love,
Alas, oh, my sweetheart, my shy little dove.
She sickened and died; now the winter winds blow O’er her grave and her cottage all covered with snow.
Shy she was, Mary,
Love of my life,
Goden-haired Mary,
My true love, my wife.”

    When the twins finished singing, everyone was quiet for a few moments. Then they clapped and whistled until Bob and Barbara bowed happily and went back to their seats.
    After the show had ended, the master of ceremonies invited Bob and Barbara and their friends to his office backstage.
    “You surely stopped the show, kids,” he told them enthusiastically. “The Westons couldn’t have done better—maybe not even as well. Wait a second till I get the phone.” He answered, then listened for a few moments. “It’s for you.” He smiled broadly and handed the receiver to Bob.
    As Barbara, all ears, listened, the master of ceremonies said with a broad grin, “It was the Folk Song Publishing Company calling. They wanted to know who owns the copyright to the song you sang.”
    “We wrote it,” Barbara said quickly. “It didn’t have to be cleared for public use.”
    “I wasn’t worrying about that one bit. I’ll be surprised if they aren’t asking the two of you to sign a contract with them to publish it.”
    Bob replaced the receiver slowly. He turned around to the Bob-Whites and his sister and Ned, his face a picture of mixed emotions. “They want to pay us to publish the song!”
    “Hallelujah!” Mart took Barbara’s hands and danced around the room. “Boy, is your fortune made!”
    The master of ceremonies laughed. “Not quite. It might just catch on, though, and if you’ve written other songs, they’ll want to see them, too; you can be sure of that. They pay on a royalty basis. It could mean a few dollars, and it could mean a lot more than that. Congratulations! Say, there goes the phone again.”
    The conversation was short. “It was Mr. Meredith,” the man said with a smile.
    “I hope he thought we were all right,” Barbara said quickly.
    “You bet he did, Barbara,” the master of ceremonies said. “He said to tell you, you were great. He repeated it twice, and that’s something from Mr. Meredith. He said, too, that he’d talk to you later at home. It’s liable to mean a contract for you. That’ll bring you to New York.”
    “I’m afraid not,” Bob spoke for the twins. “We’re only in high school. It was a lot of fun to be on a big program at Celebrity. I hope the kids at home won’t think we have the bighead....”
    “Nobody who knows you would think that!” Trixie said fiercely.
    “Oh, no,” echoed Honey.
    “It’ll be swell to talk to Mr. Meredith,” Barbara declared. “He probably doesn’t want to talk to us about a contract at all, but I know he can give us some good advice about what to do. We could sure use some money from royalties to help with our college fund.”

    Back in the apartment, the telephone was ringing as they opened the door. Trixie ran across the room and answered.
    “It’s Moms!” she said, turning around to face the others, her eyes shining. “She heard the program. She wants to talk to you, Barbara.”
    Barbara talked for a minute, then handed the receiver to Bob.
    “Isn’t it great?” he said happily when he turned away. “Bobby talked to me, too. When he likes something, he sure says so, doesn’t he?”
    “He’s just as voluble when he doesn’t,” Mart said, laughing. “Did he say he liked the