The protesters sang at the top of their voices, all the way from the park.

“Silver Street’s a city farm

Ee-i, ee-i, oh!

And on that farm we’ll have some sheep

Ee-i, ee-i, oh!”

Gemma’s dad’s accordian was joined by Mr. Khan’s trombone, a pair of cymbals, and some sleigh bells that were being shaken very enthusiastically by the oldest of Meera’s little brothers. Even some of the police officers were humming along.

All the people standing outside the gates of Silver Street must have heard them coming for ages because the man from the city council, the backhoe drivers, and a whole lot of other people wearing hard hats and fluorescent vests were just standing and staring, frozen to the spot, as the procession came down the street.

The protesters finished the last verse in four-part harmony:

“Silver Street’s a city farm

Ee-i, eeeeeee-iiiiiii, ooooooohhhh!”

Mr. Khan added a lovely little trombone solo right at the end, as they all stopped just inches from the workers and the man from the city council in his gray suit.

For a moment, nobody said anything, apart from the lambs who said, “baaaaa,” as it was time for another bottle feeding, and the goats who said, “meeeeeh!” because they were fed up with Meera pulling on their leashes, and the ducklings who “peep-peeped” from inside Gemma’s T-shirt.

Then, the man from the city council — who was, Karl noticed, already turning red again — cleared his throat. “If you think that all of this nonsense,” he said, waving his hand at all the people and their banners, “is going to have the slightest effect on the council’s decision, then think again!” He shoved an official-looking document under Meera’s nose. “This demolition notice gives me the right to flatten this ruin right now!” he said, adding under his breath with what could only be described as a snarl, “and there’s nothing you kids and your stupid, mindless, ridiculous protest can do about it!”

“Ah, Councilor Newberry!” said Sashi, popping up out of the crowd with Stewy and his camera at her side. She pushed a microphone under the councilor’s nose. “We’ve got your comments on tape,” she said, smiling innocently. “So I was just wondering if you were officially describing all these good people as ridiculous and stupid and — what was it — mindless?”

“Were you?” demanded the crowd.

“I represent many small businesses in the city,” said Mr. Khan, “and I’m sure we wouldn’t want to be called stupid.”

“Noooo!” booed the crowd.

“A city farm is a great community project,” said Meera’s mother. “It’s very far from mindless or ridiculous.”

“That’s right!” cheered the crowd.

“In fact,” Meera said, “it might be a good idea for you to tear up that demolition notice right now.”

“Yes,” Gemma added. “And let all these people help us build our very first city farm!”

Councilor Newberry turned as pale as he’d been red. He dropped the piece of paper and opened the locked gates without another word.

Silver Street Station’s new future rushed in, and one very happy ex–guard dog ran out, delighted to see his three friends once again.