Small Pickwick, in high dudgeon at the lunch table: “Do you know? I don’t believe I was actually born in this family. I believe I arrived here by accident.”

A somewhat smaller, Sweet Pickwick crumples to the floor in sisterly distress and agony and wails: “But I want you to belong to us! Why don’t you belong to us?”

Small Pickwick, unmoved: “Because Mommy and Daddy are such Math People. They do not appreciate fairies or riding horses at all.” I am not entirely sure what we have done (as Fr Pickwick composes music and I write in my spare time) to earn the distinction of Math People, besides our phenomenal skills on the addition facts up to 20 and our insistence that she finish her worksheets. Also, Fr Pickwick himself was once dubbed Horse Prince at the county fair. But I suppose that is as ancient history to the youthful Pickwickians.

Sweet Pickwick, still on the floor: “Please stay with us! I do want you to belong to us!”

Small Pickwick: “Well, anyway. I am glad that I am in this family however I came to be in it.”

Sweet: “So you will stay with us forever!”

Small: “Yes. We have a big backyard. And our dad is a priest.”

And I suppose that is enough to make up for our arithmetical inclinations.