My sister Jeanne was a cute, freckly-faced little character. When she was three or four and playing the part of one of the angels in a Christmas play, she broke up the act -- and the audience -- by running accross the stage, snatching Baby Jesus out of his cradle, and running back with Jesus cradled in her arms.

One Halloween a few years later, Dad staged an elaborate surprise for the children. He fastened a wire to the ridge at the top of the barn, anchored it to the ground in back of the barn, hung a scarecrow at the top with a tripwire that would let it slide down at a critical time. Then, after dark, we had a big bonfire in back of the barn, roasted marshmallows and told ghost stories. At the hair-raising climax of one of these, the "witch" came flying out of the dark over the fire and landed behind us with a thump; but the worst of it was that it was shrieking like a real banshee as it flew down, surprising all of us. The wire was rusty. Poor Jeanne was frightened out of her wits. The trick was too effective!