WILDWOOD WAYS 



looked in vain, for the first flakes of a 

 snow-squall were whitening the air and 

 had made the distant shore indistinct. 

 Then it spoke again, almost confiden- 

 tially, that still lonely but more pleasing 

 whinny, a sort of " Who-who-who-who " 

 that is like a tremulous question, weird 

 laughter, or a note of pain as best fits the 

 mind of the listener. The voice came 

 from the geographical centre of the 

 pond's loneliness, the one point where a 

 wild bird like the loon, obliged to make 

 a stand, would find himself farthest from 

 all frequented shores. I skated up the 

 wind in that direction, but the snow blew 

 in my eyes and I could see but little. 



Suddenly right in front of me there 

 was a wild yell of dismay, despair and 

 defiance all mingled in a single loon note, 

 but so clearly expressed that you could 

 not fail to recognize them, then a quick 

 58 



