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She came swimming down to meet us the moment our canoe entered the lake; and what she seemed to cry was, "Where are they? O where are they?" She followed us across the lake, accusing us of robbery, and asking the same question over and over. But whatever the meaning of Hukweem's crying, it seems to constitute a large part of his existence.
Dass what you call-um his laugh, like he crazy. Denn, wen nobody answer, he say, O I so sorry, so sorry! Ooooo-eee! like woman lost in woods. An' dass his tother cry." This comes nearer to explaining the wild unearthliness of Hukweem's call than anything else I know.
And when I came back to camp at twilight with a big bear in the canoe, his shaggy head showing over the bow, and his legs up over the middle thwart, like a little old black man with his wrinkled feet on the table, Hukweem's curiosity could stand it no longer.
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.
They were there on the bare ground, two very large olive eggs with dark blotches. I left them undisturbed and went on to investigate the crying, which had stopped a moment as I approached the nest. Presently it began again behind me, faint at first, then louder and more eager, till I traced it back to Hukweem's household.
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