She lived in one of a long row of houses which were all joined together. One morning she was out in the back garden when a boy scrambled up from the garden next door and put his face over the wall. Polly was very surprised because up till now there had never been any children in that house， but only Mr Ketterley and Miss Ketterley， a brother and sister， old bachelor and old maid， living together. So she looked up， full of curiosity. The face of the strange boy was very grubby. It could hardly have been grubbier if he had first rubbed his hands in the earth， and then had a good cry， and then dried his face with his hands. As a matter of fact， this was very nearly what he had been doing.
“Hullo，” said Polly.
“Hullo，” said the boy. “What‘s your name？” “Polly，” said Polly. “What’s yours？” “Digory，” said the boy.
“I say， what a funny name！” said Polly.
“It isn‘t half so funny as Polly，” said Digory. “Yes it is，” said Polly.
“No， it isn’t，” said Digory.
“At any rate I do wash my face，” said Polly. “Which is what you need to do； especially after.” and then she stopped. She had been going to say “After you‘ve been blubbing，” but she thought that wouldn’t be polite.