Gradually, we began to think our new sister wasn't too bad. It's true that she was awfully dumb about talking-- at twelve months Bobby and I had given her up as a moron-- but she cooed prettily when she wasn't screaming or sleeping. When the baby was about eighteen months old, Paige and I were allowed to wheel her down Buffalo Street every afternoon after school. It got to be quite a game, after we had worked out three speeds for pushing the carriage. Speed One was sedate, a slow crawl , and used exclusively if our mothers happened to be sitting on the front porch. Two was brisker, but Speed Three was really a honey.

"Now Three," I would yell, and we'd charge downhill with the baby carriage at break-neck speed, like runaway horses. My little sister seemed enchanted with this, and when Paige and I would stop at the foot of the hill panting, she'd gurgle for more. However, for several years after this, she was an extremely nervous, high-strung child, and sometimes I think I know why.

--from We Shook the Family Tree (1946)