“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Alice. “We girls used to play all sorts of games when I was a child.”
“We’ll have to divide up some way,” said Sherm. “Ernest, let’s you and me be Richard and Philip, and Carol can be the sultan and defend the place. And we could have the girls up here for the sultan’s wives—he had a lot—they’d be out of the way.”
“Not on your life,” grunted Carol, disgusted at having all the girls put in his charge.
“It won’t be bad, Carol, the garrison’ll have to have a lot of provisions, and I’ll give you some apples and cookies if you’ll let the little girls play,” Alice interposed tactfully.
“Cricky, Alice, you’re a brick!”
“Gee, Alice, wish you lived at our house!” Carol and Sherm exclaimed in unison.
Alice Fletcher, a sturdy, intelligent-looking girl of twenty, was pleased at the boy’s praise. “Thanks, my lords!” she replied, waving a peeling at them.
“Oh, well, I don’t care if the girls’ll keep out of the way,” conceded Carol.
“Gertie can be the wives and me and Jane will be the soldiers. Carol will need somebody to help him,” said ambitious Katy.
The preliminaries were soon arranged. Timid Gertie was safely stowed away where she could hold to the chimney if a sudden panic seized her, and the boys graciously posted Jane and Katy on the battlements, otherwise known as the comb of the roof, to man the engines and spy out the landscape. They kicked off their shoes, the better to cling, and pranced around stocking-footed regardless of possible parental displeasure.