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when such a yelling began as I never heard 



before. All the loons gathered about the 



two swimmers; there was much cackling T/uAiaeem 



and crying, which grew gradually quieter; ip^.-'^^"!' 



then they began to string out in another 



long line, and two more racers took their 



places at one end of it. By that time it was 



almost dark, and I broke up the race trying 



to get nearer in my canoe, so as to watch 



things better. 



Twice since then I have heard from sum- 

 mer campers of their having seen loons 

 racing across a lake. I have no doubt it is 

 a frequent pastime with the birds when the 

 summer cares for the young are ended, and 

 autumn days are mellow, and fish are plenty, 

 and there are long hours just for fun together, 

 before Hukweem moves southward for the 

 hard, solitary, winter life on the seacoast. 



Of all the loons that cried out to me in 

 the night, or shared the summer lakes with 

 me, only one ever gave me the opportunity 

 of watching at close quarters. It was on a 

 very wild lake — so wild that no one had 

 ever visited it before in summer — and a 



