"All right!" muttered John, settling himself with a contented grunt upon the sticks. Now that the new building had been properly opened, his mind was at rest.
"Well, this is what I think," began Madge. "It's rather absurd for us to have a grand staircase up to our place of refuge. What we want is a ladder that we can pull up after us so that the enemy can't follow!"
"What a splendid idea!" said Betty admiringly. "But I am afraid Barton would never allow us to take his ladders out of the barn. He is always dreadfully cross if we only take them out to look at a bird's nest, and he finds they have gone. And he would be sure to see us carrying them across the fields."
"Yes, but you see I have thought of all that!" replied Madge with a smile of superior wisdom. "I told you I had a good idea, and I have, though John did not believe it! What do you say to a rope-ladder?"
CHAPTER V.
THE BOY WHO MOUNTED IT.
It is just possible that there comes a time of life when the heart does not beat responsively at the bare suggestion of a rope-ladder. Then a desert island will have lost its charm, and wild beasts be no longer a source of terror or interest. Betty and John had, fortunately for them, not yet reached this miserable epoch. At their sister's last words they shouted and danced about on the uneven sticks until they were in imminent danger of falling out of the Eagle's Nest much faster than they climbed in.
"I thought you would consider it a good idea," said Madge modestly.
"Rather! I should think so! It's the awfullest, jolliest notion! It is! it is!" cried the twins alternately. At that moment they felt that nobody ever had ideas quite as good as Madge's.