THE SUBMERGED TENTH 
one, at least, of the Loons will cease its flight 
and fall to the water with tremendous force, while 
the survivors keep steadily on their way. 
Lying there in the stern of the dory, tossed by 
the waves, and not over warm, it must be confessed, 
for hours I watch the Loons and other fowl come 
and go. Sometimes it is the big fellow, the Great 
Northern Loon, but rather oftener the smaller Red- 
throated species—whose throat, however, has now 
lost all trace of its summer redness. The shoe- 
maker gunners have nicknamed it “the Pegging-awl 
Woon irom) its slender, sharp’ bill Though 
smaller than the great Loon, it is still a big bird. 
The former can laugh loud enough in its summer 
home on the lakes, but in the autumn flight, at any 
rate, I think it is outdone by the “ Pegging-awl.”’ 
The latter goes farther to the north to breed than 
its relative, and if it is correspondingly noisy, the 
Arctic solitudes where it is found must be far from 
silent. 
If this be a fairly good flight-day, Loons will 
probably pass within sight every ten minutes at 
least. Sometimes from three to six will follow 
one another some rods apart, at irregular intervals. 
Just as often they travel singly. If there is any 
difference in the general habits of the two kinds, T 
think that the ‘“ Pegging-awl”’ is the more apt to 
goum parties:’ Iiitoo,*he is the greater: talker, we 
may award him the palm for sociability. But that 
they are both good company, I can testify. 
In the calm of the early morning very likely 
there will be one or two large Loons riding over 
the swells, diving now and then after their finny 
41 
