Cowardly Clyde

We're back, beginning with the cover, in days when knights were bold, or else figures of fun--but the cowardly character of the title turns out, in an inspired switch on the formula, to be Sir Galavant's war-horse Clyde, whose bravado even the farm dogs can see through. Comes word of a rampaging ogre and, while Sir G. grins, Clyde quakes. When the monster's tracks lead to the edge of dark, gloomy woods and Clyde backs off--""Don't tell me my noble high-stepping steed has turned into a chicken!"" Sir G. taunts. But not even insults can stop him when the monster, awakened (because it wouldn't be ""sporting"" to slay him asleep), rears up and--looking at once horrible and hilarious--leaps to the attack. Clyde is out of the woods like a shot but where, oh where, is Six G? Back in the deep, gloomy woods, of course (we've seen him scraped off), so there poor Clyde must go--to distract the ogre and frantically lead him out of the woods. . . into the unfamiliar, inhospitable daylight where the sun promptly burns him to a crisp. Sir G., making up a more ""believable"" story, is an instant hero, and Clyde can really hold his head up now. One of Peet's liveliest (if not most insidious) triumphs--with a wonderful shivery, giggly chase when the monster comes ""whuffling and gruffling"" through the trees on Clyde's flying heels. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.