“I speak to play cowboy,” shouted Ted.
“You need outdoors for cowboys,” Alice objected, “and horses!”
“Can’t we have the pony out, Father?” Ted begged. “Grant hasn’t had any exercise today.”
“No, I promised Mother we’d play inside. It’s fairly warm in here. Who’ll be first up the ladder?”
“Me!” shrilled adventurous Ethel. “But we can’t climb with these overshoes on. They’re too slippery.”
“Stack them all here neatly. And nobody is to turn and jump back down that ladder,” their father ordered.
“She did one day,” declared Kermit, “she landed right on my stomach.”
“You had your stomach in the way of my feet.” Ethel flashed quickly up the ladder. The others came after, Theodore taking the rear to help Archie, who had to be lifted up the last steps. The mow above was high and lighted by a dusty window. The roof had chinks here and there between the aged shingles, letting in pale beams of light that showed the ragged mounds of hay with a pitchfork sticking up out of one stack.
Ted promptly seized this and began waving it, shouting, “I’m a Rough Rider. I choose Father with me. The rest of you can be Spaniards.”
Theodore recovered the menacing weapon firmly and stood it in a far corner. “No Rough Rider fought with a pitchfork. I’ll be the Spaniards. The rest of you can attack from those stacks over there. Remember we beat the Spaniards!”