The large and growing Mitchell family, transferring their location to Montreal, can’t find a house to buy or rent. They settle, over Mother’s protests, for a remote, rickety summer house in the woods near a lake. The dangers, antics, quarrels, and fun which now unroll bring each member of the family into vivid characterization. Meanwhile we meet some delightful French Canadians and taste the special qualities of rural Quebec in the late 1940’s. Canada, 1940's RL5.3 Of read-aloud interest ages 8-up Hilda van Stockum (1908-2006), wife of E.R. Marlin and mother of six children, wrote and illustrated nearly 20 books for children between the years 1934 and 1976. Born in Holland of Dutch and Irish heritage she met her American husband in Ireland at the outset of her portrait painting career. After her marriage she put her training in art to very good use in her books for children. Her works reflect the various countries and cultures of which she has been a part. For instance, her book The Winged Watchman remains a stirring tribute to the courage of her countrymen during World War II. PETER and Patsy Mitchell stood on the front lawn of their home in Washington, D.C. They watched the furniture being carried out of the house into a big moving van, a much larger one than the neighbors had used when they had moved. But then the neighbors had only one child and the Mitchells had six, not counting pets. At present only Peter and Patsy could really enjoy the move; Joan was rocking Baby Catherine to sleep and Angela and Timmy had been foisted onto neighbors, for fear they’d manage to get themselves packed up with the furniture. Peter and Patsy, nine and eleven respectively, could be trusted to take care of themselves, yet they just escaped being old enough to be always pressed into service, like poor Joan. Of course Joan didn’t really mind, she liked to help and she adored Baby Catherine. The moving men were straining and puffing. They had ropes and small carts to help them carry the heavy furniture. Now they were lifting the piano down the steps. Sweat streamed down their faces as they cried out to one another in French. They spoke French because they came from Montreal. They spoke it so quickly it was hard to understand them even when you knew French. One of the men had said something to Grannie but Grannie had kept shaking her head. “ Plus lentement ,” she’d begged, which means “slower.” So the man had talked very, very slowly and Grannie had understood but it hadn’t been worth the trouble. He had only been saying that it was hot, as if everyone didn’t know that . The men were packing the furniture into the van. They put sacks over it for protection. They fitted everything in like a jigsaw puzzle. There went Timmy’s tricycle and Angela’s doll carriage, but not her dolls, Surshy and Train-crack. Mother had wanted to pack them in a trunk but Angela had forbidden it. “You don’t pack us in a trunk, do you?” she had said indignantly. “My children want to go in the train and look out of the window too.” So Surshy and Traincrack were waiting somewhere on a window sill, all dressed up to go. There went Grannie’s radio. “I hope it doesn’t break,” said Peter. “What will Grannie do if she can’t hear the ‘Mayor of the Town’?” “Or ‘Information Please,’ ” agreed Patsy. There went Catherine’s crib and high chair. They used to be Timmy’s, the marks of his teeth were still on them. Catherine didn’t bite things; she was very dainty. Peter wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “It sure is hot,” he said. “Maybe it will be cooler in Canada.” “Of course, because it’s farther north there,” Patsy instructed him. “Yes, but that’s what I don’t understand,” said Peter, frowning. “North is only nearer to the North Pole and if you go all the way up, right slap bang into the middle of the North Pole, then where is north? There isn’t any.” Patsy hadn’t thought of that. “There must be,” she said. “No, there isn’t,” crowed Peter. “Up in the middle of the North Pole there’s only south. I must go there some day.” “Let’s go inside and look at the house now,” proposed Patsy. They wandered through the dusty, empty rooms. Neither of them could remember ever having lived anywhere else. This house was as much a part of them as their teeth or noses. It disturbed them to see it so bare and friendless now. “Do you like going away?” asked Patsy softly. Peter ruffled his hair with one hand. He remembered how he had looked forward to Canada. When Daddy came home from the war his position in Washington was still available, but prices had gone up so much that Daddy preferred to look around for a better one. Through a Canadian soldier friend of his he finally got a very good offer, a permanent job as hydraulic supervisor in Montreal. He jumped at it, but when the contract was signed he discovered that there wasn’t a house for rent in the whole of Montreal. For a year he had hunted without results, and all that time his family had to stay in Washington. Even the child