could stand it no longer. He swam up within twenty yards, and circled
the canoe half a dozen times, sitting up straight on his tail by a
vigorous use of his wings, stretching his neck like an inquisitive
duck, so as to look into the canoe and see what queer thing I had
brought with me.

He had another curious habit which afforded him unending amusement.
There was a deep bay on the west shore of the lake, with hills rising
abruptly on three sides. The echo here was remarkable; a single shout
brought a dozen distinct answers, and then a confusion of tongues as
the echoes and re-echoes from many hills met and mingled. I discovered
the place in an interesting way.

One evening at twilight, as I was returning to camp from exploring the
upper lake, I heard a wild crying of loons on the west side. There
seemed to be five or six of the great divers, all laughing and
shrieking like so many lunatics. Pushing over to investigate, I
noticed for the first time the entrance to a great bay, and paddled up
cautiously behind a point, so as to surprise the loons at their game.
For they play games, just as crows do. But when I looked in, there was
only one bird, Hukweem the Inquisitive. I knew him instantly by his
great size and beautiful markings. He would give a single sharp call,
and listen intently, with head up, swinging from side to side as the
separate echoes came ringing back from the hills. Then he would try
his cackling laugh, _Ooo-áh-ha-ha-ha-hoo, ooo-áh-ha-ha-ha-hoo_, and as
the echoes began to ring about his head he would get excited, sitting
up on his tail, flapping his wings, cackling and shrieking with glee
at his own performance. Every wild syllable was flung back like a shot
from the surrounding hills, till the air seemed full of loons, all
mingling their crazy cachinnations with the din of the chief