For a bright cloud descended and enveloped Ann and Jack and Eliza and sailed away with them, and left Roger standing right where he was.
And then he, too, remembered about magic going by threes, and he felt even worse. Not only had he failed, but he was lost here in this magic world forever! And he knew it was only what he deserved.
"Thy friends have gone," said King Richard, after a moment. "I presume thou hast sent them on some magic errand to save us?"
"No," said Roger, "I didn't. I wish I had. I would have if I could have thought of any."
"Can it be," said the king, "that they have fled?" And a frown of anger clouded his brow.
"I guess that's what they've done," said Roger, looking at his feet.
"But then surely we must despair," cried the king, paling, "if magic itself giveth us up as hopeless!"
"Yes," said Roger. "I guess you might as well. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."
"Dost mean that thou hast betrayed us on purpose?" cried King Richard, outraged. "Is thy magic black?"
"Not exactly," said Roger, "but it might as well be. I'm just plain no good at it. I don't have the touch. I thought I did, but I don't. And you don't know the worst part."
The worst part, of course, was about his father, but he couldn't talk about that. He could only think about it, and he did.
But it was then, in Roger's darkest hour, that help came.
Little John, who had gone to check with the guard, came running back in again.
"A miracle, sire!" he cried. "Help from the skies!"
More guards came running in after him, shouting. "The sword! The sword!" cried some. And others cried, "The statue!"
Everyone ran into the park. Sure enough, from the statue of St. George Peabody a great sword protruded. It hung at a peculiar angle, as though someone had stuck it in at the top, and then levered it down to one side.
"Behold," said Little John, "a great hand hath appeared from above, and placed it there!"
"Many have tried, but none can pull it forth," cried those who were nearest the statue, and had been trying.
"What can it mean?" everybody was saying.
But Roger had remembered the ancient rune, and he knew what it meant. At least he thought he did. And his heart gave a great leap.
And like the young King Arthur before him, he stepped up to the sword, and took it by the hilt, and it came away easily in his hands. He looked up, and there was the Old One, standing beside him smiling at him. And for the first time in all the magic adventures, the Old One spoke.
"Sword from stone the hero taketh," he said.
And then a great cheer went up from the whole multitude. For out of the cloven statue gushed a stream of rich liquid and a delicious aroma pervaded the air. And all the hungry people came with ramekins and pannikins and bowls, and drank from that fount of plenty. And a cloud of glory descended from the sky and brought Ann and Jack and Eliza with it, and Roger saw Ann smiling at him, and he realized what it was that she had done.
"Have some soup," he said, and Ann knew that in those words he was saying all the things that nobody can ever say, particularly when he is a boy talking to his little sister.
And she and Roger and Eliza and Jack agreed afterwards that it was the best pea soup they ever tasted.
It seemed to have other properties, too—added vitamins, maybe. For as its rich warmth coursed through their veins, all the knights and yeomen felt suddenly refreshed and strong again, and couldn't wait to fall upon the army of the dastard Prince.
"Follow me, Ivanhoe's men!" cried Wilfred, and Robin Hood blew his hunting horn, and all their loyal band gathered round them.
"Wait," called a voice. It was the Old One. He pointed. "The Snowbound Sleepers!"
Everyone looked.
Far in the distance whitely gleamed a snowcapped mountain nobody remembered ever having seen before. And all the people cried out, "More miracles!"
For strains of martial music were heard from the mountain, and down its side marched a company of such soldiers as the eyes of chivalry had never yet gazed upon.
"Wow!" said Jack. "The U.S. Marines to the rescue!"
"Well, sort of," said Ann, modestly.
As Eliza said later, it was like a Memorial Day parade. There were British grenadiers singing The British Grenadiers, and modern G.I.'s singing The Beer Barrel Polka, and 1918 doughboys singing Over There! And last and most impressive of all, marched the Spanish War veterans. "Remember the Maine!" they cried. "Remember Teddy Roosevelt! Charge!"
And the men of Prince John gave way and scattered before them and they kept on marching straight up to the castle.
Roger looked at them with love and pride, and realized that only he knew the record and capabilities of each and every one of them, and only he was fitted to be their general. Brandishing the sword he had pulled from the stone, he took his place at their head, and Jack and Robin Hood and King Richard and Ivanhoe fell into line just behind him, and the merry men followed after.
But when they saw the whites of the enemy's eyes, and Roger waved his sword in the command to fire, and when the Prince's soldiers heard gun-powder for the first time, they fell on their knees holding their ears in craven surrender, and Prince John fled all by himself.
And they hunted him over hill, over dale, through bush and through brier, till in the end he took refuge in Sherwood Forest, which was foolish of him, because Robin Hood knew every tree and every inch of it, and they found the wretched Prince at last, cowering behind a bush, alone and miserable and Leader of nobody. And they marched him back a prisoner to Torquilstone.
His judgment was pronounced by King Richard that very day, in the castle keep. All were present. Prince John made a contemptible picture, as he sniveled in the prisoner's dock.
"Come, come," said King Richard. "Crying will get thee nowhere. Thou wert ever the same, e'en when we were boys together. Nothing but a pest!"
"To the block with him!" called somebody.
"Melt him down," called somebody else, "in his own molten lead!"
"Nay," said the king. "I cannot slay my own brother, richly though he deserve it. Go forth," he said to Prince John, "to lead a hermit's life alone in the wilderness, bereft of thy title, and let all men shun thee forever."
And Prince John slunk away.
"But won't he come back and make more trouble later?" whispered Ann, who was seated on the king's left. "Later on in history?"
King Richard shook his head. "History no longer hath meaning for us now. And what is even better, after this no more terrible ideas from the world outside can penetrate here. Time standeth still from now on, and the golden age of chivalry endureth forever, now that the hero"—and here he nodded at Roger, who was seated upon his right hand—"hath set us free."
Roger started to protest at this, but now Maurice De Bracy stepped forward and knelt before the king.
"Sire," he said, "I started to say this before, but there was an interruption. I have been thy enemy in the past, but I have repented. I crave pardon and shall do any penance thou wishest."
"De Bracy," said Richard, "thou wert ever an honorable foe, and thou hast fought valiantly in the recent battles. I pardon thee."
"I crave another boon," said De Bracy. "If it please thee, set free the Lady Rowena, who now languisheth in durance vile. Traitress or not, I love her and would have her for my bride."
"Oh, very well," said King Richard, "though sooner you than me. Take her far from here and let living with her be thy penance."
And Rowena was brought from the dungeon and fell into De Bracy's arms. So that was all right.
There was still the quest unfinished, but Ivanhoe
and Rebecca volunteered to stop off and deliver the final installment at the Giants' Lair, on their wedding journey. And at last Ann remembered what she had done with the father giant's coattails.
She hadn't done anything with them. She had cut them off, and then forgotten about them, and put them down somewhere. They final
ly turned up in the scullery, where the kitchenmaid had cut them up for dishcloths. King Richard had them laundered, and Rebecca tied them up in a neat package with De Bracy's beard and the roses, which were sadly wilted by now.
And then the four children said a fond good-bye to Ivanhoe and Rebecca, who were anxious to depart on their honeymoon.
"Now we'll never know what finally became of Bois-Guilbert," said Ann.
"He's probably so reformed by now he probably won't be fit for normal life," said Eliza. "He'll probably go enter a monastery." And I believe that is probably exactly what he did.
Roger was getting anxious to depart now, too, for something told him it was time. But King Richard said he couldn't possibly leave till he and Robin Hood gave a banquet in his honor. And in spite of all that Roger could, and did, say, they gave it for him that night.
And after the banquet everyone drank to Roger, and then came a cry of "Speech! Speech!" from the whole company, and Roger stood up and faced them all.
"Thanks a lot," he said, "and I just want to say I don't deserve any of it. I haven't been a hero a bit. The first time I came there wouldn't have been any trouble if I hadn't started it by talking too much. And the next two times I wasn't a speck of help to hardly anybody. And this last time there wouldn't have been any sword in the stone, or any army for me to be general of, if Ann hadn't worked out the secret rune when I couldn't, and she did just about the whole thing, and if there's any toasts going to be drunk, they ought to be to her. And I drink to her now."
And he drained his glass, and then smashed it on the stone floor, and sat down and blushed and didn't look at anybody, though Ann was looking at him and smiling for all she was worth.
But to his surprise the cheers now were louder than they had been before, and Robin Hood cried that that was the most heroic speech he ever did hear, pardie! And the Old One came all the way around the table and shook Roger's hand.
"Wisdom now the hero learneth," he said.
Roger looked at him. "You mean?"
"Wait," said the Old One. And he turned to the others. "Three cheers for Roger," he cried, "and may his name live forever, for the way he hath led soldiers!"
"He led soldiers! Led soldiers! Led soldiers!" cheered the whole company, and these were the most beautiful Words of Power (or of anything else) that Roger had ever heard in his life.
And the gray mist came down for the last time, and wafted the four children away in its soft nothingness, and the next Roger knew he was lying in bed and it was a bright morning of sun and blue sky, and his mother was standing over him with such a smile on her face that Roger knew he must have earned his wish at last, and it had come true.
Later that day he learned how his father had come through better than anyone had expected, and he was going to be fine. In fact, he was going to be better so soon that he could leave the hospital in just a little while now, and they were going to spend the rest of the summer on an island in a lake in the mountains on the boundary between New England and Canada, because that was the nearest they could get to the four different vacations the family had wanted.
"Though after the magic," said Eliza, when the four children were alone, "even the desertest island would seem paltry."
"I don't know," said Roger. "I'll be kind of glad to get back to normal. Not that it wasn't wonderful," he added quickly. "At least most of it was."
"And now we'll never see them again," said Jack. "I'm going to miss that Robin Hood. Those were the days."
"We can still play with them," said Ann. "I think they'll kind of know."
"I never did get my special adventure," said Eliza. "It turned out to be somebody else's every time."
"Maybe that was on purpose," said Jack, grinning at her. "Maybe that was just to teach you."
Eliza looked surprised. Then slowly a smile spread over her face. "Well, for Heaven's sake," she said. "If that wouldn't be just like that magic's impudence! Trying to teach me moral lessons! Maybe you're right, though," she added, seriously. Maybe that's why it came into our lives, to make noble characters of us. I learned not to be bossy, and Ann learned to be brave and think for herself."
"And I learned there ackcherly is magic," said Jack.
"And I learned wisdom," said Roger, looking so smug and holy that Jack and Eliza fell on him and held him down and sat on him while Ann tickled his feet till he admitted that maybe he did have a little more to learn, still.
"I wish I could give you a picture to remember it all by," said Jack, when peace reigned again. "I had a keen one of you leading the army, but it didn't come out. None of them did."
"I didn't think they would, somehow," said Ann.
"I wonder if we'll ever have another summer together," said Roger.
"I wonder if it'll be a magic one," said Jack.
"Wottest thou not that all magic goeth by threes?" said Eliza. "Maybe we'll have two more!"
"Time will tell," said Ann. And it did.
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. 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."
Edward Eager, Knight's Castle
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