"Mr Milligan?" asked Marjory, anxiously.
"He's moved so I can't tell."
"Try the other window," urged Marjory, impatiently.
"It doesn't look like Mr. Milligan's legs—I can't see the rest of him. They look neat and—and expensive."
"Probably it's just an agent; they're kind of thick lately. You go to the door and tell him we're just pretend people, while I'm putting the sweeper out of sight."
"Good morning," said Mr. Downing. "Are you—Why! this is a very cosy little place. I had no idea that it was so comfortable. May I come in?"
"Ye—es," returned Mabel, eyeing him doubtfully, "but I think you're probably making a mistake. You see, we're not really truly people."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Downing, with an amused glance at plump Mabel. "Is it possible you're a ghost?"
