They were playing on the lawn of Aunt Jo's house - the little Bunkers, six of them. You could count them, if you wanted to, but it was rather hard work, as they ran about so - like chickens, Mrs. Bunker was wont to say - that it was hard to keep track of them. So you might take my word for it, now, that there were six of them, and count them afterward, if you care to. Come on! cried the eldest Bunker - Russ, who was eight years old. Come on, Rose, let's have some fun.