neighborhood of the stone fence
that bounded the school-house lot in the rear. Looking in that
direction they were thunderstruck to see the enemy's soldiers pouring
over the wall and advancing vigorously toward them. With rare strategy
the Riverbeds, instead of approaching by the front, had come up the
hill on the back road, crept along under cover of barns and fences
until the school-house lot was reached, and now, with terrific shouts,
were crossing the stone-wall to hurl themselves impetuously on the
foe.

For a moment consternation reigned within the fort. The surprise was
overwhelming. Pen was the first one, as he should have been, to
recover his wits. He remembered his grandfather's warning against the
enemy's strategy.

"It's a trick!" he shouted. "Don't let 'em scare you! Load up and at
'em!"

Every boy seized his complement of snowballs, and, led by their
captain, the Hilltops started out, on double-quick, to meet the enemy.

The next moment the air was filled with flying missiles. They were
fired at close range, and few, from either side, failed to find their
mark.

The battle was swift and fierce. An onslaught from the Riverbeds'
left, drove the right wing of the Hilltops back into the shadow of the
fort. But the center held its ground and fought furiously. Then the
broken right wing, supplied with fresh ammunition from the reserve
piles, rallied, forced the invaders back, turned their flank, and fell
on them from the rear. The Riverbeds, with ammunition all but
exhausted, were hard beset. They fought bravely and persistently but
they could not stand up before the terrific rain of missiles that was
poured in on them. They yielded, they retreated, but they went with
their faces to the foe. There was only one avenue of escape, and that
was down by the side of the school-house to the public road. It was
inch by inch that they withdrew. No army ever beat a more stubborn or
masterly retreat. In the face of certain defeat, at scarcely arm's
length from their shouting and exultant foe, they fought like heroes.

Pen Butler was in the thickest and hottest of the fray. He urged his
troops to the assault, and was not afraid to lead them. The militant
blood of his ancestors burned in his veins, and, if truth must be
told, it trickled in little streams down his face from a battered nose
and a cut lip received at a close quarter's struggle with the enemy.

The small boys by the school-house, seeing the line of bat