elements, air and water. When there is much going on in one, there is
quite sure to be much going on in the other. You have been casting,
perhaps, for an hour with scarcely a jump or any sign of life anywhere
about you, when presently the breeze freshens and the trout begin to
respond, and then of a sudden all the performers rush in: ducks come
sweeping by; loons laugh and wheel overhead, then approach the water on
a long, gentle incline, plowing deeper and deeper into its surface,
until their momentum is arrested, or converted into foam; the fish hawk
screams; the bald eagle goes flapping by, and your eyes and hands are
full. Then the tide ebbs, and both fish and fowl are gone.

Patiently whipping the waters of the lake from my rude float, I became
an object of great interest to the loons. I had never seen these birds
before in their proper habitat, and the interest was mutual. When they
had paused on the Hudson during their spring and fall migrations, I had
pursued them in my boat to try to get near them. Now the case was
reversed; I was the interloper now, and they would come out and study
me. Sometimes six or eight of them would be swimming about watching my
movements, but they were wary and made a wide circle. One day one of
their number volunteered to make a thorough reconnoissance. I saw him
leave his comrades and swim straight toward me. He came bringing first
one eye to bear upon me, then the other. When about half the distance
was passed over he began to waver and hesitate. To encourage him I
stopped casting, and taking off my hat began to wave it slowly to and
fro, as in the act of fanning myself. This started him again,--this was
a new trait in the creature that he must scrutinize more closely. On he
came, till all his markings were distinctly seen. With one hand I
pulled a little revolver from my hip pocket, and when the loon was
about fifty yards distant, and had begun to sidle around me, I fired:
at the flash I saw two webbed feet twinkle in the air, and the loon was