Abe Lincoln at Last!: A Merlin Mission

said Jack. “But that doesn’t help us right now. There must be a magic potion in the bottle. What does the label say?”
    Annie held up the small blue bottle and read the tiny writing on its label aloud:
    Take a sip. Make a wish for one thing to help you on your mission. Remember: Trust the magic
.
    “That sounds kind of general,” said Jack. “Wish for one thing to help us on our mission? That could be
anything
.”
    “And remember to trust the magic,” said Annie. She shrugged.
    “Okay … we’ll try to do that,” said Jack. He took the bottle and the note from Annie and put them into his backpack.
    “We’ve got everything we need,” said Annie. “A mission, a research book, and a little bit of magic. Ready to go?”
    “Yep,” said Jack. He pointed to the picture of the White House on the cover of their book and said, “I wish we could go there!”
    The wind started to blow.
    The tree house started to spin.
    It spun faster and faster.
    Then everything was still.
    Absolutely still.

CHAPTER TWO
Pirate Captain
    J ack shivered. The air was chilly, but the sun was bright. Bare branches outside the tree house swayed in the wind. Annie was wearing a long dress with an apron. Jack wore a cotton shirt over a red undershirt and a pair of trousers with suspenders. His backpack had turned into a leather bag.
    Jack looked into the bag. Inside were his notebook and pencil, the message from Teddy and Kathleen, and the bottle with the magic potion. “Good,” he said, “it’s all here.”
    “We’ve worn clothes like these before,” said Annie.
    “Yeah, when we ran from that twister on the prairie,” said Jack.
    “And when we helped Clara Barton in the Civil War,” said Annie.
    “Right,” said Jack. “So, did we land at the White House?”

    They looked out the window. The tree house had landed in a grove of bare, sunlit trees. Beyond the trees, horse-drawn carriages rumbled over a circular carriageway toward a stately white mansion with tall columns.
    “Oh, man,” whispered Jack.
    The White House was breathtaking in the morning air, bathed in sunlight. A crowd was gathered outside the front entrance: men in long black coats and tall hats, and women in hoopskirts and bonnets with big bows.
    “Looks like lots of people are visiting Abraham Lincoln today,” said Annie.
    Jack thumbed through their research book until he found another black-and-white photograph of the White House. He read aloud:
    When Abraham Lincoln became president in 1861, the White House was considered to belong to all the citizens of the country, as well as to the president and his family. Anyone could walk rightin. President Lincoln sometimes found it hard to work in his White House office because of the number of people swarming through the building .
    “So
anyone
can just walk right into the White House and look for the president?” said Annie.
    “That’s crazy,” said Jack.
    “But it’s good for us!” said Annie.
    “I guess,” said Jack, “but I don’t want to be one of those people who make it hard for the president to work.”
    “Don’t forget,” said Annie, “we’re supposed to give him hope.”
    “With a feather that
he’s
supposed to give
us
,” said Jack. He shook his head, then took out their note from Teddy and Kathleen.
    The third thing to break the spell

is a single feather from a hero’s hand
.
Use it wisely to give him hope
—
the hope he needs to heal his land
.
    “How can we get a feather from him?” said Jack. “And how can it give him hope?”
    “It’s better to do just one thing at a time,” said Annie. “First we have to find the president.”
    “Hey, Willie! Look!” someone shouted from below. “It’s a tree house! See? See?”
    “Oh, no!” whispered Jack.
    Jack and Annie peeked out the window. A boy about seven or eight years old was looking up at the tree house. The boy wore baggy gray trousers with suspenders and a white shirt. He had dark, piercing eyes.
    “Hello!” the boy shouted when he saw Jack and Annie. “Who are you? Why are you in our tree house?”
    “
Your
tree house?” said Jack. “It’s not your tree house!”
    “Yes, it is!” the boy said confidently.
    “Tad, hush!” An older boy ran to join the younger one. He had a friendly, open smile and looked to be around Jack’s age. “Don’t mind my brother Tad!” he shouted.
    “But it’s
ours
, Willie!” said Tad. “The White House is our house! And the tree house is in
our
yard!”
    Oh,