I had hoped to see her let the little ones out of their hard shell, and see them first take the water; but that was too much to expect.  One day I heard them whistling in the eggs; the next day, when I came, there was nothing to be seen on the nest-bog.  I feared that something had heard their whistling and put an untimely end to the young Hukweems while mother bird was away.  But when she came back, after a more fearful survey than usual of the old bark canoe, two downy little fellows came bobbing to meet her out of the grass, where she had hidden them and told them to stay till she came back.

It was a rare treat to watch them at their first feeding, the little ones all eagerness, bobbing about in the delight of eating and the wonder of the new great world, the mother all tenderness and watchfulness.  Hukweem had never looked to me so noble before.  This great wild mother bird, moving ceaselessly with marvelous grace about her little ones, watching their play with exquisite fondness, and watching the great dangerous world for their sakes, now chiding them gently, now drawing near to touch them with her strong bill, or to rub their little cheeks with hers, or just to croon over them in an ecstasy of that wonderful mother love which makes the summer wilderness beautiful,—­in ten minutes she upset all my theories, and won me altogether, spite of what I had heard and seen of her destructiveness on the fishing grounds.  After all, why should she not fish as well as I?  And then began the first lessons in swimming and hiding and diving, which I had waited so long to see.

Later I saw her bring little fish, which she had slightly wounded, turn them loose in shallow water, and with a sharp cluck bring the young loons out of their hiding, to set them chasing and diving wildly for their own dinners.  But before that happened there was almost a tragedy.

One day, while the mother was gone fishing, the little ones came out of their hiding among the grasses, and ventured out some distance into the bay.  It was their first journey alone into the world; they were full of the wonder and importance of it.  Suddenly, as I watched, they began to dart about wildly, moving with astonishing rapidity for such little fellows, and whistling loudly.  From the bank above, a swift ripple had cut out into the water between them and the only bit of bog with which they were familiar.  Just behind the ripple were the sharp nose and the beady eyes of Musquash, who is always in some mischief of this kind.  In one of his prowlings he had discovered the little brood; now he was manoeuvering craftily to keep the frightened youngsters moving till they should be tired out, while he himself crept carefully between them and the shore.