One fresh spring morning, as Mrs. Bream fixed oatmeal in the sunny kitchen of the fine old gray house on Katzenjammer Street, little Junior came pelting down the stairs, ran to open the back door, and uttered a piercing shriek. She smiled indulgently.

"What is it, darling?"

"Mom! It's... IT'S A BABY CLOWAN!"

Just then, little Sally clattered into the kitchen and ran to see. It was true: Huddled on the doorstep was an adorable baby clown, sad, and hungry, and looking for a home.

"MOM, CAN WE KEEP HIM?"

"MOM MOM CAN WE CAN WE? HUH? MOM? MOM? HUH? MOM?"

Mrs. Bream was busy at the stove. "Don't be silly, children, clowns live in the mountains."

"I swear mom, it's a clowan, a baby clowan right in our yard!"

The baby clown said "eep! eep!", crept shyly into the house, and nuzzled against Junior's leg.

Mrs. Bream looked down and saw a dirty, thin, bedraggled little creature, no more than two feet tall, with long red shoes, tangled orange hair, and a smudged white face.

"I'm gonna call him Clowany!" howled Junior.

"It's not a he, it's a she!", Sally declared.

"Is not, he's a boy clowan!"

"IS NOT!"

"IS TOO!"

When the children had been soundly whipped and sent to the closet, Mrs. Bream gently set a bowl of milk on the floor. Clowany ran to the bowl and lapped up the milk with his long pink tongue. She knelt beside him and tenderly stroked his shivering back.

"We'll have to give you a bath, poor starving thing."

She stood, and called up the stairs.

"Dear?"

To be continued.

Update

Changed surname to "Bream".