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“city farm,” he made a face as if, Gemma thought, he’d swallowed a wasp.
    “Furthermore,” he said, now looking so red that Karl wondered if he might explode, “we have decided to begin the demolition of Silver Street Station tomorrow at nine a.m. Thank you.”
    Officer Worthing turned off the television. She seemed almost as upset as the children.
    “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
    Gemma buried her nose in a duckling’s comforting fluff, and Karl and Meera held the lambs extra close. Nobody said anything.
    “All right,” said Sergeant Short. “I’ll admit that it doesn’t look good . . .”
    The children shook their heads in gloomy agreement.
    “But, you know what they say. . . .” He winked one of his huge winks. “It’s not over till the fat policeman sings.”

Sergeant Short and his officers worked to improve the temporary animal pens they had built earlier (Officer Worthing was particularly good with the goats). They carried bales of hay and fetched buckets of water from the fountain so the animals wouldn’t go thirsty. They even made the children a sort of tent from silvery emergency blankets so that they could spend the night with their makeshift farm in the park.
    Just as the first story about Silver Street Station had spread, so did the news about the mini farm camped out in the park and the city council’s promise to demolish Silver Street Station. By early evening, the children were surrounded by a curious crowd and a flock of TV and radio reporters waving cameras and microphones.
    In spite of what the city council had said about making Silver Street Station into a parking garage, people still wanted to hear about the children’s plans for a city farm. But answering the questions from the interviewers and the crowd made it all seem even sadder. Tomorrow, Silver Street Station would be flattened, no matter what the children’s plans had been, and all their newfound animals would be homeless.
    “OK, ladies and gents,” Sergeant Short said at last, “just one more question, then I think you all need to go home! These young people should get some rest.”
    The reporter from City Wire TV pushed through the crowds and shoved a big fluffy microphone under Meera’s nose.
    “I’d like to ask,” he said with a nasty sneer, “what’s going to happen to all your fine plans when Silver Street Station is demolished tomorrow? Aren’t you just some rather foolish children with an even more foolish dream?”
    The crowd gasped, and there were even a few quiet
boo
s.
    Meera looked up at the reporter. Maybe he was right, she thought. Maybe all this time, ever since Gemma, Karl, and she had been friends, it had all been a silly, hopeless dream. For the first time in her life, Meera was lost for words; her mouth opened like a goldfish’s, but nothing would come out.
    “Well,” said the reporter smugly. “I think
that’s
your answer!”
    “Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Gemma, stepping up to him, ducklings peep-peeping from inside her shirt. “We may be kids, but we aren’t foolish. A city farm is a really,
really
good idea.”
    The crowd murmured its approval.
    “And do you know what?” said Karl. His voice wobbled a little, but it was still loud. “Maybe Silver Street Station
won’t
be demolished.”
    “Well said!” cried several people in the crowd.
    Meera looked at Karl and Gemma and was suddenly ashamed of giving in so easily. She jumped onto a hay bale so that she was eye to eye with the reporter, and she spoke out so that everyone could hear her.
    “Yes,” she said. “That’s right! Maybe tomorrow morning the people of Lonchester will decide that they don’t want
another
parking garage and that they’d
much
rather have a city farm instead!”
    The whole crowd exploded with cheering as if they’d been holding it in all along. The reporter scowled and slunk away.
    Still standing on her hay bale, Meera could see that her parents, Auntie Nat, and Gemma’s brother,