Foreword
This story was written in time of war, in the memory of peace.
Once upon a time there were happy times like these. There were trips and steaks and tennis balls, and even double-decker ice-cream cones.
But the children who played on the shores of Oak Lake have sailed away. In jungle heat they remember her cool depths. In the hot blare of battle they remember the quiet just as the moon rose over the tamarack swamp.
Come back, long-legged little boys! Come back to the summer days we used to know.
M. M. L.