Book two in the series called "truly magic in a reader's hands" by Jack Gantos, Newbery Medal winner for Dead End in Norvelt. If the old toy soldier hadn’t come to life, Roger would never have discovered the magic. And that would never have happened if he and his sister, Ann, hadn’t been sent to stay with their bossy cousins for the summer. And that wouldn’t have happened at all if their father hadn’t gotten sick and gone into the hospital. But all of that did happen, and now Roger, his sister, and their cousins find themselves in a bygone world of chivalry and knighthood, of Robin Hood and Ivanhoe. In this knightly realm they can make a difference—and perhaps even save the person they most need to save—if only they are smart and brave enough, if only they are true to their hearts. This funny and gentle classic series is an enjoyable read-aloud and also a strong choice for independent reading. For fans of such favorite series as The Penderwicks and The Vanderbeekers. Enjoy all seven of the middle grade novels in Edward Eager's beloved Tales of Magic series! "A delicious spoof."  — Saturday Review "A priceless mixture of old and new. . . . May even lure readers who thought they were beyond the fairy-tale age."  — New York Herald Tribune Books Edward Eager (1911–1964) worked primarily as a playwright and lyricist. It wasn’t until 1951, while searching for books to read to his young son, Fritz, that he began writing children’s stories. His classic Tales of Magic series started with the best-selling Half Magic, published in 1954. In each of his books he carefully acknowledges his indebtedness to E. Nesbit, whom he considered the best children’s writer of all time—“so that any child who likes my books and doesn’t know hers may be led back to the master of us all.” 1 The Blow It happened just the other day, to a boy named Roger.      Most of it happened to his sister Ann, too, but she was a girl and didn’t count, or at least that’s what Roger thought, or at least he thought that in the beginning.      Part of it happened to his cousins Jack and Eliza, too, but they didn’t come in to it till later.      Roger and Ann lived with their mother and father in a pleasant small house in a pleasant small city, and until the blow fell life was very pleasant.      Their father was an understanding parent, often quite helpful and willing about such important things as building a rabbit hutch in the backyard or hanging the swing from the biggest oak tree. And even though he said he wasn’t good with his hands (which was true), still part of the rabbit hutch stayed together quite nicely (though all the rabbits got away through the part that didn’t), and one year the swing didn’t fall down till nearly the end of summer.      And best of all, their father always read to them for an hour after dinner, even though they’d been able to read perfectly well to themselves for years now. This practice sometimes led to hot argument, because Roger was getting to be rather a yeomanly type and wanted to hear books like The White Company and The Scottish Chiefs, while Ann was becoming all too womanly, and leaned toward Little Women and the Betsy-Tacy books. And their father would complicate matters by always wanting to read books like Five Children and It, which he said was great literature. And Ann agreed that, next to the Betsy-Tacy books, it was.      Roger enjoyed science fiction books, too, but there their father drew the line. He said they were like having bad dreams on purpose, and if the Flying Saucers really have landed, he didn’t want to know about it. Roger called this Not Taking a Realistic Attitude. All the same, he really liked the magic books his father and Ann loved so, and back in the days when he was a child, before he got to be eleven, he had even hoped that some day something magic would happen to him. But nothing ever had, and that seemed to Roger to prove that there was no such thing. Or if there ever had been, probably modern science had done away with it long ago.      Their father always said how could he be sure, and besides, even if there weren’t any such thing as magic, wasn’t it pleasant to think that there might be? And in the discussion that would follow, their mother would sometimes pass through the room and cry out, and say honestly, their father was as much of a child as they were, which Ann thought quite a compliment, though she was not sure their mother meant it as one.      Ann was eight, and believed nearly everything.      When their mother wasn’t passing through the room and crying out, she was quite an understanding parent, too, except about the way Roger kept wanting more model soldiers when he had two hundred and fifty-six already, and the way all two hundred and fifty-six were always to be found all over the floor of his room, which she said passed all understanding.      And sometimes when Roger would start picking on Ann because she was a girl, and younger,