soon, she thought undoubtedly that she had fooled me, and that I knew
nothing about her or her nest.

Then I tried another plan. I lay down in my canoe, and had Simmo
paddle me up to the nest. While the loon was out on the lake, hidden
by the grassy shore, I went and sat on a bog, with a friendly alder
bending over me, within twenty feet of the nest, which was in plain
sight. Then Simmo paddled away, and Hukweem came back without the
slightest suspicion. As I had supposed, from the shape of the nest,
she did not sit on her two eggs; she sat on the bog instead, and
gathered them close to her side with her wing. That was all the
brooding they had, or needed; for within a week there were two bright
little loons to watch instead of the eggs.

After the first success I used to go alone and, while the mother bird
was out on the lake, would pull my canoe up in the grass, a hundred
yards or so below the nest. From here I entered the alders and made
my way to the bog, where I could watch Hukweem at my leisure. After a
long wait she would steal into the bay very shyly, and after much fear
and circumspection glide up to the canoe. It took a great deal of
looking and listening to convince her that it was harmless, and that I
was not hiding near in the grass. Once convinced, however, she would
come direct to the nest; and I had the satisfaction at last of
watching a loon at close quarters.

She would sit there for hours--never sleeping apparently, for her eye
was always bright--preening herself, turning her head slowly, so as to
watch on all sides, snapping now and then at an obtrusive fly, all in
utter unconsciousness that I was just behind her, watching every
movement. Then, when I had enough, I would steal away along a caribou