there were not three. There was only one. And that was Peter.

Peter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in
front of them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the
animals in a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with
a wand at the 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern
and he is explaining it.

Peter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large
white sheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick
black letters more than a foot long.

Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put the
Brunswick black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to
read.

And this what the old gentleman and several other people in the
train read in the large black letters on the white sheet:--

LOOK OUT AT THE STATION.

A good many people did look out at the station and were
disappointed, for they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman
looked out, too, and at first he too saw nothing more unusual than
the gravelled platform and the sunshine and the wallflowers and
forget-me-nots in the station borders. It was only just as the
train was beginning to puff and pull itself together to start again
that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out of breath with running.

"Oh," she said, "I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keep