Presently it began again behind me, faint at first, then louder and more eager, till I traced it back to Hukweem’s household.  But there was nothing here to account for it, only two innocent-looking eggs on top of a bog.  I bent over to examine them more closely.  There, on the sides, were two holes, and out of the holes projected the points of two tiny bills.  Inside were two little loons, crying at the top of their lungs, “Let me out!  O let me out!  It’s hot in here.  Let me out—­Oooo-eee! pip-pip-pip!”

But I left the work of release to the mother bird, thinking she knew more about it.  Next day I went back to the place, and, after much watching, saw two little loons stealing in and out among the bogs, exulting in their freedom, but silent as two shadows.  The mother bird was off on the lake, fishing for their dinner.

Hukweem’s fishing is always an interesting thing to watch.  Unfortunately he is so shy that one seldom gets a good opportunity.  Once I found his favorite fishing ground, and came every day to watch him from a thicket on the shore.  It was of little use to go in a canoe.  At my approach he would sink deeper and deeper in the water, as if taking in ballast.  How he does this is a mystery; for his body is much lighter than its bulk of water.  Dead or alive, it floats like a cork; yet without any perceptible motion, by an effort of will apparently, he sinks it out of sight.  You are approaching in your canoe, and he moves off slowly, swinging his head from side to side so as to look at you first with one eye, then with the other.  Your canoe is swift; he sees that you are gaining, that you are already too near.  He swings on the water, and sits watching you steadily.  Suddenly he begins to sink, deeper and deeper, till his back is just awash.  Go a little nearer, and now his body disappears; only his neck and head remain above water.  Raise your hand, or make any quick motion, and he is gone altogether.  He dives like a flash, swims deep and far, and when he comes to the surface will be well out of danger.

If you notice the direction of his bill as it enters the water, you can tell fairly well about where he will come up again.  It was confusing at first, in chasing him, to find that he rarely came up where he was expected.  I would paddle hard in the direction he was going, only to find him far to the right or left, or behind me, when at last he showed himself.  That was because I followed his body, not his bill.  Moving in one direction, he will turn his head and dive.  That is to mislead you, if you are following him.  Follow his bill, as he does himself, and you will be near him when he rises; for he rarely turns under water.