“You’re dead yourself,” Robert Eliot retorted. “I guess all us four filled you fuller o’ wounds than you did us, didn’t we? Lay down yourself!” “I won’t!” And Daisy, rising, began to argue the question vehemently. “I saw you all the time when you came around the house. I shot you first, didn’t I? Wasn’t I sayin’ ‘_Ping_,’ before ever any one of you said ‘Bang?’” “No, you wasn’t,” Laurence Coy hotly replied. “Why, if we’d of had real guns, they wouldn’t be enough left o’ you to bury in a hen’s nest.” “They would, too!” Daisy shouted. “If I’d had a real gun, they wouldn’t be enough left of you to bury in _half_ a hen’s nest!” “They would, too!” Laurence retorted, and his comrades in arms loudly echoed him. “They would, too!” they shouted. “You’re _dead_!” Daisy insisted. “You got to all four lay down. You got to!” But upon this they raised such a chorus of jeering that she stamped her foot. “You _got_ to!” she cried. “Listen!” said Laurence. “Listen here! I killed you myself, first thing when we came around the house. I leave it to Elsie Threamer.” He referred to the one other little girl who was present, though she took no part in these military encounters and seemed, in fact, to disapprove of them. Fastidiously remaining at a distance from the belligerents, she sat alone upon the steps of the large front porch—a dainty little figure in strong contrast to the strident Daisy. Elsie was in smooth and unspotted white linen; and Daisy, too, had been in smooth and unspotted white linen—for a few minutes—but this one point of resemblance was now lost. Elsie was a beautiful child, whereas even the fonder of Daisy’s two grandmothers had never gone so far as to say that Daisy was a beauty. Elsie was known for her sweet disposition, though some people thought that living next door to Daisy was injuring it. When Elsie came into a room where grown people were, they looked pleased; when Daisy came into a room where grown people were, they looked at their watches. “Yes,” said Robert Eliot, confirming Master Coy’s choice of an umpire. “_I_ leave it to Elsie. Whoever Elsie says is dead, why, they got to _be_ dead.” “Leave it to Elsie,” the other boys agreed. “Daisy’s dead, isn’t she, Elsie?” “I am _not_!” Daisy cried. “I don’t care what Elsie says. I killed every last one of you, and if you don’t lay down, I’ll make you.” “You will?” the bulky Robert inquired. “How you goin’ to make us?” “I’ll _frow_ you down,” said the determined Daisy; and she added vindictively: “Then I’ll walk all over you!” The enemy received this with unanimous hootings. “Yes, you will!” Laurence Coy boasted satirically. “Come on and try it if you don’t know any better!” And he concluded darkly: “Why, you wouldn’t live a minute!” “Anyway,” Daisy insisted, “I won’t leave it to Elsie, whether I’m dead or not.” “You got to,” said Laurence, and walking toward Elsie, he pointed to Daisy, and spoke with some deference. “Tell her she’s dead, Elsie.”