Harpo had no idea where he was. He couldn’t see the lake, or the lodge, or the path. He knelt, to look at the moss on a tree, but the moss seemed to wrap around the entire trunk, so it couldn’t point him south, or north, or wherever moss grew. The shadows were all stretching and pointing out some direction, but Harpo didn’t know what that meant either, and didn’t they turn throughout the day? What time was it, anyway?’
“Hey Harpo,” came a voice from the trees.
Harpo stood. It was Chico again. His brother was magic. First Chico and then Groucho struggled through the straggly branches, and he was saved.
“We’re going canoeing,” said Chico.
“Let me guess,” said Harpo, fighting the embarrassing need to throw his arms around his brothers. “You found another island.”
“Except this time,” said
