Two men unpacked the Milligans' furniture in the Milligans' front yard, and each load seemed more interesting than the one before it. It was such fun to guess what the big, clumsy parcels contained, particularly when the contents proved to be quite different from what the girls expected.
"Somehow, I don't think they're going to be very nice people," said Mabel. "I b'lieve we're going to be disappointed in 'em."
"Why, Mabel," objected Jean, "we don't know a thing about them yet."
"Yes, I do too. Their things—look—they don't look ladylike."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Marjory, "you're so funny."
"Perhaps," offered Jean, "the Milligans are poor and the children have spoiled things."
"No," insisted Mabel. "They've got some of the newest and shiningest furniture I ever saw, but I b'lieve it's imitation."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Jean, "I hope you won't watch the loads when I move. For a girl that's slept for three weeks on an imitation pillow, you're pretty critical."
Presently the Milligans themselves arrived. Mabel happened to be counting the buds on the poppy plants when they came.
"Girls!" she cried, rushing into the cottage with the news. "They've come. I saw them all. There's a Mr. Milligan, a Mrs. Milligan, a girl, a boy, a baby, and a dog. The girl's the oldest. She's just about my size—I mean height—and she has straight, light hair. The baby walks, and none of them are so very good-looking."