There was an old man/Who was named Bellwood Bouse./He loved all the things/In his very large house"—and so one day he invites all of his furniture, pots, etc. (there's a page-long rhymed list) out into the sun and fresh air. "A preposterous/Sort of procession began," with Bouse's piano playing a tune as he and all the objects march to the village and dance in the square. The trouble is that the "things"—having tasted freedom—keep right on marching, and Bouse mourns for a year before they come home, damaged but welcome. The concept of prodigal "mirrors and drapes" and teakettles is offbeat at the least, and it's harder to share Bouse's fondness for things than, say, Mister Muster's for his animals, but Lobel invests this with more of his own loving attention. The pictures, with fine black lines shading the subdued colors, glow with the quiet affection old Bouse has for his possessions and the significance he attaches to them.