GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE 



longer than any man whatsoever, he spent part of his 

 days among them. At such times he was a sort of 

 hermit. 



Then no handy trolley rumbled by to take him on 

 his near way. No train shrieked its departure to distant 

 places where he might go. There was no interesting roar 

 of mill or factory making things to use. There was no 

 sociable tread of feet upon the pavement, to give him a 

 feeling of human companionship. 



But, for all that, it was not a silent world the minister 

 found at Immer Lake. On sunny days the waves, touch- 

 ing the rocks on the shore, sang gently, ^^Bippo-bappo, 

 bippo-bappo.'' The trees clapped their leaves together 

 as the breezes bade them. The woodpeckers tapped 

 tunes to each other on their hollow wooden drums. The 

 squirrels chattered among the branches. At dawn and 

 at dusk the thrushes made melodies everywhere about. 



On stormy nights the waves slapped loudly upon the 

 rocks. The branches whacked against one another at 

 the mighty will of the wind. The thunder roared ap- 

 plause at the fireworks the lightning made. And best 

 of all, like the very spirit of the wild event, there rang 

 the strange, sweet moaning Storm Song of the Loon: — 



''A-a-ah 1-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah 1-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. 

 A-a-ah 1-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah 1-u-u-u-u-u-u' la." 



The minister of Immer Lake liked that song, and he 



57 



