320 Musiiig^s by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



and its clothing at a single operation. Adam — he 

 said his name was Edward — seated us in a beautiful 

 new canoe, took his place at the stern, and began 

 the voyage with rapid strokes. We were to go 

 about four miles — to the farther end of the lake. 

 There was not a ripple on all the surface of that 

 splendid mirror. It was autumn, and the lake was 

 set in a double frame of green and gold and crim- 

 son, the outer frame real, the inner one reflection. 

 Adam handled his light paddle swiftly and with 

 skill. The oar took the water at right angles with 

 the line of motion, but before the stroke was finished 

 it was turned a little obliquely, which threw the 

 handle against the side of the boat, and thus coun- 

 teracted the tendency to move in a circle. There 

 was a loon party that evening. They came with 

 weird laughter from far down the lake, half flying, 

 half swimming, their wings dashing the water at 

 every stroke, and leaving long trails of dimples 

 behind — and then such a ridiculous and cantanker- 

 ous performance ! One must be very crazy to merit 

 being called "crazy as a loon." Though in loon 

 country for twenty summers, I have witnessed but 

 one other fashionable party of loons. The birds 

 stuck their heads and long necks straight up, then 

 sprang clear of the water, uttering the wildest 

 shrieks, repeating the exercise till they were tired. 

 There were about a dozen of the performers, while 

 as many more were demurely looking on. Whether 



