Seventeen year-old Paula has just left behind convent boarding school—a quiet, peaceful place full of prayer, contemplation, and other girls her age—to go home. She hasn't been back to the family courthouse home for more than two years, and isn't quite prepared for her five rambunctious brothers, two eccentric maiden aunts, bibliophile uncle, and eighty-nine year old Babbett, not to mention the demands laid on her by energetic Mama. How can she cope with the mess of it all? There is barely time to think each day. Her father, Judge Eisenberth, at first seems to be the only one who understands her frustration. Even Adolf, her favorite brother, cannot fathom why she longs to go back to the convent and become a nun. Paula—and Adolf, who is going through his own trials—must face her problems and learn how to deal with everyday dilemmas as a part of the growing up process.
Paula was not easily given to crying; the Eisenberth children had all learned early to master their emotions. Contenance, Papa called it. But now, remembering the happiness of the convent festivities, all the suppressed homesickness of the last weeks broke out. She laid her arms on the letter she had started, put down her head and wept. But in this house you couldn't even cry in peace. There was someone knocking at the door. It was Adolf, followed by the inevitable Aquarius, who straightaway laid a paw sympathetically on her knee.
"What's the matter, Paula? You mustn't bawl just because we make a bit of a row. We didn't mean to annoy you, and if Mama grumbles at you tomorrow morning, we'll all say it was our fault."
Paula stood up and wiped away her tears. "I know you don't do it on purpose," she said. She sat down on the edge of her bed, drew Adult down beside her, and spread the thick feather-filled coverlet over his bare legs and across her own knees. Aquarius needed no invitation to jump up next to them, and the three of them sat huddled together, quite comfortable and warm.
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