Phil's outfit might have come from the ragbag, too, it was so tattered
and patched. But he had forgotten to take off his silver cuff-buttons,
and the shoes he wore looked sadly out of place below the grimy jeans
overalls. He was obliged to wear a pair of bright tan-coloured shoes,
so new that they squeaked. They were the only ones he had, for his old
ones had been thrown away the day before. At first he was tempted to
go barefoot, but the November wind was chilly, although the sun shone,
and he dared not risk it.

It was ten o'clock by the court-house dial, and the bell was on the
last stroke, when little Elsie held open the alley-gate and Phil
trundled the red wheelbarrow through. I was perched on the music-box.
Rather an uncertain seat, I found it, as it slid back and forth at
every step. I had to hold on so tight that my arms were sore for two
days afterward.

"Which way shall we go?" asked little Elsie, as she fastened the gate
behind us. Phil looked up and down the alley in an uncertain way, and
then said, "When the princes in the fairy tales start out into the
wide world to make their fortunes, they blow a leather up into the air
and follow that."

"Here's one," cried Elsie, running forward to pick up a bit of fluffy
white down that had blown over from a pigeon-house on the roof of a
neighbouring stable. "I'll blow, and you say the charm." She puckered
up her rosy little mouth and gave a quick puff.

"Feather, feather, when we blow,
Point the way that we should go,"