All summer Mickey's singing canoe hums away in italics at the wharf, tied down because this island boy of eight or so can't swim--""they put those silly baby rubber wings on me."" In between communing with the canoe, he sneaks off to practice in solitude, so that when the canoe comes loose, the day before his return to the city, he can swim out to retrieve her; ""Next year, hear, we'll go on all those trips together. For real. You wait"". . . for next year.