Don't be misled by my rating, this really is a good book. The illustrations, while not the best I've ever seen from Cooney, are reliably high in quality, and McLerran's prose captures the voice of her elderly relative recounting their childhood games.
My failure to enjoy the book more is rooted in my personal dissatisfaction with where my life has taken me and my regrets over lost opportunities and wasted potential. I can see objectively that the book is meant to evoke a pleasant nostalgia, but instead it made me sad.
I wonder if little Francie ever got an art career or a house of colored glass.
I bet she didn't.