llIhadtodowastotrateandfollowthesoundsofcivilization.Ilookedtothehorizonasfaraspossible,butsawnosign.Ilistened,butheardnothing.Itriedtoremember,butcouldnotrecallmyname.

    Pocketingmythreetokens,IturnedoverthedaraheShakespearealoudtomyself:"ButifthewhileIthinkonthee,dearfriend..."Thepeoplesleepingdownbelowinthehollowweremyfriends.ItookoutmypendbegantowriteallIcouldremember.Manyayearhaspassedbetweenthenandnow,andIhavewrittenthisstorymorethathatwasthebeginning,alooptheridge.Myfiiffehecold.AsIwalkeddowntothecamp,thebedcoverscalledouttomewiththepromiseofwarmdreams.

    NotlongafterSpecksvalentine,aniftlandedinmylap.Luchógbroughtitbaoneofhispiratingexpeditions,unpaghissacklikeSantaattheChristmastree."Andthis,littletreasure,isforyou.Thesum-allandbe-allofyourearthlydesires.Enoughspacehereforyoureverydream.Mirairacles,anddry,too.Paper."

    Hehandedmeaboundblaotebook,thekindschoolchildreheirlessons,thepageslioeheproperplatofwordsaences.OnthefrontwastheheschoolaleRULEDPOSITIONBOOK.Onthebackwasasmallboxwiththisprintedwarning:Iofatomicattack:closetheshades,liedownunderyourdesk.Donotpaniside,theauthorofthebook,ThomasMes,hadwrittenhisheflyleaf.

    Theweatheredpageswerefilledwithhisvirtuallyindecipherablepenmanship,theinkarustybrown.AsfarasIcouldtell,itwasastory,orpartofastory,becauseopage,thewritingendsmid-sentehtherathercrypticSeeOtherBookwrittenontheinsidebackcover.Overtheyears,Itriedtoreadit,butthepointofthestoryeludedme.Thebeautyofthepositionbookforme