blot that advertises somebody's Blue Black Writing
Fluid.

It was Phyllis's turn again, and she was trying to look like the Sphinx
that advertises What's-his-name's Personally Conducted Tours up the Nile
when the sharp ting of the signal announced the up train. The children
rushed out to see it pass. On its engine were the particular driver
and fireman who were now numbered among the children's dearest friends.
Courtesies passed between them. Jim asked after the toy engine, and
Bobbie pressed on his acceptance a moist, greasy package of toffee that
she had made herself.

Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver consented to consider her
request that some day he would take Peter for a ride on the engine.

"Stand back, Mates," cried the engine-driver, suddenly, "and horf she
goes."

And sure enough, off the train went. The children watched the
tail-lights of the train till it disappeared round the curve of the
line, and then turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the General
Waiting Room and the joys of the advertisement game.

They expected to see just one or two people, the end of the procession
of passengers who had given up their tickets and gone away. Instead, the
platform round the door of the station had a dark blot round it, and the
dark blot was a crowd of people.

"Oh!" cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous excitement, "something's
happened! Come on!"

They ran down the platform. When they got to the crowd, they could, of
course, see nothing but the damp backs and elbows of the people on the
crowd's outside. Everybody was talking at once. It was evident that
something had happened.

"It's my belief he's nothing worse than a natural," said a
farmerish-looking person. Peter saw his red, clean-shaven face as he
spoke.

"If you ask me, I should say it was a Police Court case," said a young
man with a black bag.

"Not it; the Infirmary more like--"

Then the voice of the Station Master was heard, firm and official:--

"Now, then--move along there. I'll attend to this, if YOU please."

But the crowd did not move. And then came a voice that thrilled the
children through and through. For it spoke in a foreign language. And,
what is more, it was a language that they had never heard. They had
heard French spoken and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and used to sing
a song about bedeuten and zeiten and bin and sin. Nor was it Latin.
Peter had been in Latin for four terms.

It was some comfort, anyho