than the great rambling closets which were only partly enclosed and seemed to end, no one knew where, off under the roof. They had never been able to fully explore these—indeed their mother had not encouraged such voyages of discovery, because there were sundry narrow places, dark and dusty, where wriggling through in snake-fashion wrought havoc with their clothes.

The children were on the roof of the low kitchen, a kitchen that had apparently been an afterthought, for the roof sloped both ways like an inverted V and had no connection with the main roof.

“I tell you what, boys,” said Ernest after they had explored it to their satisfaction, “let’s play the ‘Siege of Acre.’ We could use this roof for the tower.”

“Aren’t enough of us!” objected Carol, a big, handsome boy with tight blond curls who was inclined to be lazy.

“Can’t we play, too?” put in Chicken Little.

“Shucks, girls don’t know how to fight.”

“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.

Ernest and Sherman were just preparing to rush up the ladder armed with villainous-looking battle-axes made out of old lath, when Alice halted them.

“But you’ll have to decide how to take the tower. If Carol tries to keep you off and knocks over the ladder you’ll get hurt. Suppose you give him a switch and if he can touch you before you can get within two rounds of the top, you’re dead, but if you can touch him, he’ll have to surrender.”

The opposing forces parleyed. The scaling party was rather dubious about tackling the sultan with only one scaling ladder, but they finally compromised on very short switches, so short in fact that Alice was worried lest the sultan should promptly take a header off the roof in his efforts to repel the invaders.

The attack began merrily. The boys swarmed up the ladder with blood-curdling yells of “Richard for England!” from Ernest and shriller cries of “France! France!” from Sherm, whose voice always trailed off into high C when he got excited.

The “sultan’s wives” hugged the chimney in her excitement and Captain Jane promptly deserted the battlements and slid down to reinforce the sultan who certainly looked lonesome. There was much ducking and dodging and great flourishing of switches to the imminent risk of all concerned, for Chicken Little came down full force against the sultan in her frantic efforts to help, and Ernest, alias Richard, stepped on the King of France’s royal fingers when forced to retreat from the sultan’s spear.

It soon became apparent that the advantage lay with the defenders of Acre. The besieging monarchs withdrew down the ladder to hold a council of war, while the sultan’s wives and troops—it was difficult to distinguish them—crowed triumphantly. They even did a little undignified taunting of the discomfited enemy.

Alice had been cheering the besiegers and now joined their counsels. After some whispering they divided forces, and King Richard climbed up the old apple tree at the corner of the house while King Philip led his forces up the scaling ladder again.

The sultan was at his wit’s end, but finally left Captain Jane in command at the head of the ladder while he tried to repulse this flank movement. Captain Jane fought valiantly, and once more France was driven back. The sultan was equally successful. The cause of the Crusaders began to look dark, when suddenly the sultan detecting Captain Katy in the act of munching the cherished provisions, proposed a ten-minute truce, but the invaders with their weather eye on the self-same goodies, haughtily declined.

Again they whispered. Suddenly Alice clapped her hands and hurriedly explained. Immediately King Philip once more planted his scaling ladder, but his ally disappeared around the house.

The sultan sent his aide over to the other side of the roof to scout, but King Richard continued his march around the house and was soon hidden from the observers on the kitchen roof, by the angle of the main house.

Presently queer rasping noises were heard. The besieged craned their necks to see what was going on. The sultan became so curious and apprehensive about his rear that he almost let the King of France get up the ladder. The ominous sounds continued, bumping, scraping, tapping, punctuated by sundry exclamations and advice to “Be careful!” from Alice, who had followed the English forces.

Philip of France, so interested in the efforts of his British allies, forgot to attack and had several narrow escapes from being captured himself.

Finally, after one prolonged scrape accompanied by several grunts, the sturdy figure of Richard towered an instant on the roof of the main house six feet above, then with a whoop of triumph, cautiously dropped down among them amid the shrieks of the defenders.

Acre had fallen.

The vanquished garrison pressed round him, not to demand mercy, but to ask questions.

“How’d you get up there?” Chicken Little demanded.

“Bet Alice put you up to that,” this from Carol.

“Should think you’d been scared to death!” whispered Gertie, still breathless with surprise.

“Pshaw, ’twas easy—just shinned up that wistaria vine on the gable, it’s awful old and strong. I’ve climbed heaps of times before, but I wouldn’t of thought of it, if Alice hadn’t told me.”

“My, wisht I could climb it!” said Katy fairly awestruck with admiration at such daring.

“Oh, you couldn’t—you’re just a girl, but I’ll show you where I got up,” said Ernest condescendingly. “Say, where’s all the apples and cookies?”

The hint was sufficient and both besieged and besiegers, perched in various attitudes along the low roof like a flock of variegated chickens, were soon merrily celebrating the downfall of Acre.

It was thus that Mrs. Morton found them, coming around the house a few moments later in search of her offspring.

“Children! What are you doing?” she gasped in horrified tones. “Jane Morton, I thought I told you to play quietly. The idea of little girls climbing up on a roof. Put on