times after the breeding season, and speeds away to spend the winter on the ocean, 

 where the ceaseless currents and toppHng waves bid eternal defiance to the grasp 

 of the Ice King. Here it finds an abundance of food, and, with hosts of other 

 sea-fowls, rides out the winter's fury. 



With the return of spring, and the warming of its stout heart toward its 

 mate, it again seeks the lake, and resumes its family cares. Year after year it 

 returns for a nesting place to the same tiny islet, floating tussock (or it may be 

 to a muskrat house), to some sandy beach in a sheltered cove, or perhaps to a 

 point of land where turf and water meet. Sometimes the nest is fully open to 

 view, sometimes well hidden by bushes, sometimes a mere hollow without lining, 

 but it may be slightly or, occasionally, well lined. Rarely an elaborate nest is 

 built in the shallow water, raised above the level of the early summer flood, and 

 such a nest is left high and dry when the water of the lake recedes in the summer 

 drought. If the lake is raised by summer rains, as sometimes happens, this nest 

 may be submerged, when the unhatched young will perish. 



The eggs usually number two, but sometimes only one is laid. They are 

 about as long as goose eggs, but less in diameter, and are rich olive-brown, more 

 or less marked with spots and lines of a deeper color. They hatch in about a 

 month. 



The baby Loons are clothed in soft down, black above, white below. In a 

 few hours they bid farewell to the nest, and are conducted out upon the broad 

 lake by their parents. Here their youth is spent in alternately swimming feebly, 

 and in riding upon their parent's backs. Audubon says that the young are "fed 

 by regurgitation for about a fortnight, and are then fed with particles of fish, 

 aquatic insects, and small reptiles, until they are able to maintain themselves." 



The deep love of the Loon for its nest and young is manifested in acts of 

 solicitude when these are approached, and in marks of afifection in fondling and 

 guiding their weak offspring. The Loon manifests uneasiness before a storm. 

 Perhaps it dislikes the splashing spray, or maybe its savage spirit is stirred to 

 depths of exultation by the turmoil of wind and wave, for, with the rising gale, 

 the bird becomes especially noisy, sending its powerful voice echoing across the 

 water with great frequency. The performance seems contagious, for every Loon 

 within reach of that penetrating tone raises its voice to answer, and then it may 

 seem to a man listening that the confusion of tongues is again at hand. 



The storm abated, and the sun again shining upon the water, the Loon finds 

 life easy, and after washing its beautiful plumage with scrupulous care, and 

 dressing each feather with oil from the gland above the base of the tail, it finds 

 time to play, for, although a veritable savage, the Loon is possessed of social 

 instincts and often indulges them. 



Frequently little parties of from two to half a dozen or more may be seen 

 racing across the water. Half flying, half swimming, they dash over the smooth 



249 



