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 coming down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it.” She thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved. He leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what he read:-- “Dear Mr. We do not know your name. Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end of the letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton for us and she will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but you, because Father is away and we do not know the address. Father will pay you, or if he has lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay you when he is a man. We promise it on our honer. I.O.U. for all the things Mother wants. “sined Peter. “Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us not knowing what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was sorry about the coals and he will know all right. “Roberta. “Phyllis. “Peter.” Then came the list of things the Doctor had ordered. The old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. He read it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, he put it in his pocket and went on reading The Times. At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The three children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had told them so many interesting things about railways. He dumped down a big hamper on the kitchen flags. “Old gent,” he said; “he asked me to fetch it up straight away.” “Thank you very much,” said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, he added:-- “I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Father does, but--”