“Well, we’ll be at the end of this run some time,” said the guard, who had been talking with Flossie and Freddie.

“What will you do with us then?” the little boy asked.

“Turn you over to the agent, unless we have some other word about you,” the trainman answered.  “Wait, we’re going to stop here, and there may be a message.”  He hurried out on the platform.

As the train was leaving that station Flossie and Freddie saw the ticket agent run out, waving his hand, and they heard him shout something to their guard.  When the latter came into their car again he said to Flossie and Freddie: 

“That message was about you two.  The agent said two lost children were on this train and that they were to be put off at the next station and left until their father came for them.  You’re the only lost children I know of.”

“And we’re not lost so very much,” said Flossie slowly. “’Cause we are here.  It’s Daddy and the rest who are lost.”

“Well, they’ll soon be along—­coming on the next train,” said the guard.  “I’ll turn you over to the agent at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street and you’ll be all right.”

This was done.  The train came to a stop; many passengers got off and a kind woman took Flossie and Freddie in charge and saw that they got inside the elevated station, where the agent, who had been telephoned to, knew about them and was expecting them.

“Now, just sit right down here and be comfortable,” the agent said to the Bobbsey twins.  “You’ll be all right, and your folks will soon come for you.  I have to sit in the office and sell tickets.”

The kind woman called a good-bye to the children and went away; so Flossie and Freddie were left by themselves in the elevated railroad station at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.

For a while they sat quietly, watching the people come in to buy tickets or get off trains.  The agent did not pay much attention to them, being very busy, for it was toward the close of day when the rush was like the morning, greater than at other times.

“Say!  What’s that?” suddenly asked Flossie, holding up her chubby hand to tell Freddie to stop whistling, which he was trying to do.

“What’s what?” he asked, looking at his sister.

“I hear music,” went on Flossie.

“So do I!” exclaimed Freddie.

They both listened, and from somewhere outside they heard the sound again.

“It’s a hand organ!” cried Flossie.

“No, it’s a hand piano!” said Freddie.  “Hear how jiggily the tune is.”

“Well, it’s the same thing,” Flossie insisted, “I wonder if there’s a monkey with it.”

“Let’s go downstairs and see,” proposed Freddie.

Once Flossie or Freddie made up their minds to do a thing it was almost as good as done—­that is, if it were not too hard.  This time It seemed easy to do.  They looked toward the little office in which the ticket seller had shut himself.  He was busy selling tickets.