“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said in a rather husky voice. Then there was a pause, and he heard his heart beating in his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he went on with a rush, “it's most awfully good of you, and we shall treasure the watches all our lives--but really we don't deserve it because what we did wasn't anything, really. At least, I mean it was awfully exciting, and what I mean to say--thank you all very, very much.” The people clapped Peter more than they had done the District Superintendent, and then everybody shook hands with them, and as soon as politeness would let them, they got away, and tore up the hill to Three Chimneys with their watches in their hands. It was a wonderful day--the kind of day that very seldom happens to anybody and to most of us not at all. “I did want to talk to the old gentleman about something else,” said Bobbie, “but it was so public--like being in church.” “What did you want to say?” asked Phyllis. “I'll tell you when I've thought about it more,” said Bobbie. So when she had thought a little more she wrote a letter. “My dearest old gentleman,” it said; “I want most awfully to ask you something. If you could get out of the train and go by the next, it would do. I do not want you to give me anything. Mother says we ought not to. And besides, we do not want any THINGS. Only to talk to you about a Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend, “Bobbie.” She got the Station Master to give the letter to the old gentleman, and next day she asked Peter and Phyllis to come down to the station with her at the time when the train that brought the old gentleman from town would be passing through. She explained her idea to them--and they approved thoroughly. They had all washed their hands and faces, and brushed their hair, and were looking as tidy as they knew how. But Phyllis, always unlucky, had upset a jug of lemonade down the front of her dress. There was no time to change--and the wind happening to blow from the coal yard, her frock was soon powdered with grey, which stuck to the sticky lemonade stains and made her look, as Peter said, “like any little gutter child.” It was decided that she should keep behind the others as much as possible. “Perhaps the old gentleman won't notice,” said Bobbie. “The aged are often weak in the eyes.” There was no sign of weakness, however, in the eyes, or in any other part of the old gentleman, as he stepped from the train and looked up and down the platform. The three children, now that it came to the point, suddenly felt that rush of deep shyness which makes your ears red and hot, your hands warm and wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny. “Oh,” said Phyllis, “my heart's thumping like a steam-engine--right under my sash, too.” “Nonsense,” said Peter, “people's hearts aren't under their sashes.” “I don't care--mine is,” said Phyllis. “If you're going to talk like a poetry-book,” said Peter, “my heart's in my mouth.”