The Bumperlis had always lived at 99 Sunflower Street and the last of their ong line decided to sell the house and go modern. This was poor pay for a house that oved Mr. Bumperli dearly and guarded him well, for when his cigar almost set the place afire, the house turned on all its water gaps; when a burglar tried to get in, the house cracked and groaned and frightened the thief away. As soon as potential buyers started to arrive, the house employed the same tactics -- the floors tilted and sank or the polar bear rug growled and the chimney smoked in grief. Up to this point, the story is fairly amusing and imaginative. Then, however, the fantasy becomes leaden. The house disappeared, was posted for reward, found, and all the dead Bumperlis stepped out of their gilt frames to argue their shamed heir into keeping the place. Too much.