The story of a rollicking, exuberant family We had been quite happy in our small house in Penbrook. There were, even then, seven children and Muzzie and Dad. The house held many memories. Our Muzzie had with her a delightfully infectious laugh, and Dad so serious and stern, but with a quick mind and a dry sense of humor that tested our own agile brains. This was the house of pull-taffy parties on crisp fall evenings; of Halloween parties and bobbing for apples in the big washtub; of leaping from warm snuggly beds on to the icy floor, grabbing our clothes, and racing downstairs to dress beside the big black kitchen stove; of sitting around the big kitchen table on various sizes and shapes of chairs and stools to do our homework; of the excitement and anticipation watching Dad build our huge bobsled; of hikes and picnics in the summer and riding the trolley car to the park; of Thanksgiving and two chickens roasted brown and beautiful in the great black stove; and of Christmas---the exchange of hand-made gifts, the luscious candies and cookies Muzzie had made and hidden (she thought) from us so that there would be plenty on ""the day.""
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