He was staying with his guardian, an old Colonel Sinclair; and when my father came up to town he and this Colonel Sinclair discovered that they were old school-fellows, which Leo and I looked upon as a good omen for our friendship.
Polly and I and Nurse Bundle became as learned in gossip as any one else who lives in a town, and is constantly looking out of the window.
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.