Book three in the series called "truly magic in a reader's hands" by Jack Gantos, Newbery Medal winner for Dead End in Norvelt. When wishing for magic, it’s hard not to wish for too much. If Jane, Mark, Katharine, and Martha had stopped to think—oh, if they had only stopped to think!—they would have ordered magic by the pound, or by the day, or even by the halves as they had in Half Magic. But no, they asked for magic by the lake—and now they have to deal with a whole lakeful of enchantment! Soon the children find themselves cavorting with mermaids, outwitting pirates, and—with the help of a cranky old turtle—granting a little magical help to the one person who needs it most. 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! "The combination of real children and fantasy is convincing and funny."  — Booklist "The same mélange of realism and fantasy, witty talk and believable characterization that has come to be the hallmark of Mr. Eager’s stories.”  —The New York Times Book Review   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 Lake It was Martha who saw the lake first. It was Katharine who noticed the sign on the cottage, and it was Mark who caught the turtle, and it was Jane who made the wish. But it was Martha who saw the lake first. The others didn’t see it until at least ten seconds later. Or, as Katharine put it, at long last when all hope was despaired of, the weary, wayworn wanderers staggered into sight of the briny deep.      This, while poetic, was not a true picture of the case. They really weren’t so wayworn as all that; the lake was only fifty miles from home. But cars didn’t go so fast thirty years ago as they do today; so they had started that morning, their mother and Martha and Mr. Smith their new stepfather in front, and Jane and Mark and Katharine and the luggage in the tonneau, which is what people called the back seat in those days, and Carrie the cat wandering from shoulder to shoulder and lap to lap as the whim occurred to her.      At first spirits were high, and the air rang with popular song, for this was going to be the four children’s first country vacation since they could remember. But two hours in a model-T Ford with those you love best and their luggage is enough to try the patience of a saint, and the four children, while bright and often quite agreeable, were not saints. It was toward the end of the second hour that the real crossness set in.      “That lake,” said Jane, “had better be good when we finally get to it. If ever.”      “Are you sure we’re on the right road?” said Mark. “That crossroad back there looked better.”      “I want to get out,” said Martha.      “You can’t,” said their mother. “Once you start that, all pleasure is doomed.”      “Then I want to get in back,” said Martha.      “Don’t let her,” said Katharine. “She’ll wiggle, and it’s bad enough back here already. Sardines would be putting it mildly.”      “Just cause I’m the youngest, I never get to do anything,” said Martha.      “That’s right, whine,” said Katharine.      “Children,” said their mother.      “I,” said Mr. Smith, “suggest we stop and have lunch.”      So they did, and it was a town called Angola, which interested Mark because it was named after one of the countries in his stamp album, but it turned out not to be very romantic, just red brick buildings and a drugstore that specialized in hairnets and rubber bathing caps and Allen’s Wild Cherry Extract. Half an hour later, replete with sandwiches and tasting of wild cherry, the four children were on the open road again.      Only now it was a different road, one that kept changing as it went along.      First it was loose crushed stone that slithered and banged pleasingly underwheel. Then it gave up all pretense of paving and became just red clay that got narrower and narrower and went up and down hill. There was no room to pass, and they had to back down most of the fourth hill and nearly into a ditch to let a car go by that was heading the other way. This was interestingly perilous, and Katharine and Martha shrieked in delighted terror.      The people in the other car had luggage with them, and the four children felt sorry for them, going back to cities and sameness when their own vacation was just be