106. SIGNS AND SEASONS 



out is always in luck if he can find, sheltered hy 

 the trees, a soft hole in the ground, even if he has 

 a stone for a pillow. The earth must open its 

 arms a little for us even in life, if we are to sleep 

 well upon its bosom. I have often heard my grand- 

 father, who was a soldier of the Revolution, tell 

 with great gusto how he once bivouacked in a little 

 hollow made by the overturning of a tree, and slept 

 so soundly that he did not wake up till his cradle 

 was half full of water from a passing shower. 



What bird or other creature might represent the 

 divinity of Pleasant Pond I do not know, but its 

 demon, as of most northern inland waters, is the 

 loon; and a very good demon he is, too, suggesting 

 something not so much malevolent as arch, sar- 

 donic, ubiquitous, circumventing, with just a tinge 

 of something inhuman and uncanny. His fiery-red 

 eyes gleaming forth from that jet-black head are full 

 of meaning. Then his strange horse-laughter by 

 day, and his weird, doleful cry at night, like that 

 of a lost and wandering spirit, recall no other bird 

 or beast. He suggests something almost supernatu- 

 ral in his alertness and amazing quickness, cheating 

 the shot and the bullet of the sportsman out of 

 their aim. I know of but one other bird so quick, 

 and that is the hummingbird, which I never have 

 been able to kill with a gun. The loon laughs the 

 shotgun to scorn, and the obliging young farmer 

 above referred to told me he had shot at them 

 hundreds of times with his rifle, without effect, 

 they always dodged his bullet. We had in our 



