Song of the Loon_:--

"A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la.
A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la."

The minister of Immer Lake liked that song, and he liked the other
music that they made. So it was that he sat before his door through many
a summer twilight, and played on his violin until the loons answered
with the _Tremble Song_:--

"O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!
O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"

Then they would swim up and up, until they floated close to his cottage,
feeding unafraid near by, while he played softly.

Often, when Gavia and her mate were resting there or farther up the
lake, some other loon would fly over; and then Father Loon would throw
his head way forward and give another sort of song. "Oh-a-lee'!" he
would begin, with his bill wide open; and then, nearly closing his
mouth, he would sing, "Cleo'-pe''-a-rit'." The "Oh" starts low and then
rises in a long, drawn way. Perhaps in all the music of Immer Lake there
is nothing queerer than the _Silly Song of Father Loon_:--

"Oh-a-lee'! Cleo'-p''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-a-rit', cleo'-per''-wer-wer!
Oh-a-lee'! Cleo'-p''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-wer-wer!"

Such were the songs the two Olairs heard often and again, while they
were growing up; and they must have added much to the interest of their
first summer.

Altogether they had endless pleasures, and were as much at ease in the
water as if there were no more land near them than there had been near
those other young birds that had teeth and no wings, four million years
or so ago. Their own wings were still small and flipper-like when, about
the first of August, they were spending the day, as they often did, in a
small cove. They were now about two-thirds grown, and their feathers
were white beneath and soft bright brown above, with bars of white spots
at their shoulders. They had funny stiff little tails, which they stuck
up out of the water or poked out of sight, as they wished. They swam
about in circles, and preened their feathers with their bills, which
were still small and gray, and not black like those of the old birds.

After a time Gavia came swimming toward them, all under water except her
head. Suddenly Father Loon joined her, and they both began diving and
catching little fishes for the two Olairs. For the vegetable part of
their dinner they had shreds of some waterplant, which Gavia brought
them, dangling from her bi