We knew the (bird's-eye) appearance of everybody on our side of the
square, their servants, their cats and dogs, their carriages, and even
their tradesmen. If one of the neighbours changed his milkman, or
there came so much as a new muffin man to the square, we were all
agog. One day I saw Polly upon our perch, struggling to get her face
close to the glass, and much hindered by the size of her nose. I felt
sure that there was _something_ down below--at least a new butcher's
boy. So I was not surprised when she called me to "come and look."
"Who is it?" said Polly.
"I don't know," said I.
And then we both stared on, as if by downright hard looking we could
discover the name of the gentleman who had just come down the steps
from Colonel Sinclair's house. He was a short slight man, young, and
with sandy hair. Neither of us had seen him before. Having the good
fortune to see him return to Colonel Sinclair's house, about two hours
later, I hurried with the news to Polly; and we resolved to get to see
Leo as soon as possible, and satisfy our curiosity respecting the
stranger. So in the afternoon we sent a message to invite him to come
and play with us in the square, but we received the answer that "Sir
Lionel was engaged.
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