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           Theyhadallwashedtheirhandsandfaces,andbrushedtheirhair,andwerelookingastidyastheyknewhow.ButPhyllis,alwaysunlucky,hadupsetajugoflemonadedownthefrontofherdress.Therewasnotimetochange—andthewindhappeningtoblowfromthecoalyard,herfrockwassoonpowderedwithgrey,whichstucktothestickylemonadestainsandmadeherlook,asPetersaid,"likeanylittlegutterchild."

           Itwasdecidedthatsheshouldkeepbehindtheothersasmuchaspossible.

           "Perhapstheoldgentlemanwon’tnotice,"saidBobbie."Theagedareoftenweakintheeyes."

           Therewasnosignofweakness,however,intheeyes,orinanyotherpartoftheoldgentleman,ashesteppedfromthetrainandlookedupanddowntheplatform.

           Thethreechildren,nowthatitcametothepoint,suddenlyfeltthatrushofdeepshynesswhichmakesyourearsredandhot,yourhandswarmandwet,andthetipofyournosepinkandshiny.

           "Oh,"saidPhyllis,"myheart’sthumpinglikeasteam-engine—rightundermysash,too."

           "Nonsense,"saidPeter,"people’sheartsaren’tundertheirsashes."

           "Idon’tcare—mineis,"saidPhyllis.

           "Ifyou’regoingtotalklikeapoetry-book,"saidPeter,"myheart’sinmymouth."

           "Myheart’sinmyboots—ifyoucometothat,"saidRoberta;"butdocomeon—he’llthinkwe’reidiots.