This lonely spot had always suited the King Loon so well that, no matter how far off he had wintered, he invariably made for Black Lake during nesting time. Mahug, like all his tribe, was a mighty diver and, for water-fowl, he had very fashionable habits, spending a portion of each year near the salt sea, usually camping upon some desolate island, fishing, swimming, and diving with thousands of other water-fowl, yet never mingling at all familiarly with them, or encouraging acquaintances in a sociable way, because the loon is a very solitary bird. So, when nesting time came, Mahug always went off as far away from the crowd as he possibly could go. Quite frequently he and his mate would fly thousands of miles in order to be exclusive and alone. The old loon was a large, imposing bird, his wing and back feathers of a glossy, metallic black, while his beautiful breast was dazzling, pearly white, the feathers very soft and thick. When Mahug stood erect, at first sight, he appeared to be wearing a dark coat thrown back from a pearl-white waistcoat. His head was beautifully marked, the top of fine, iridescent feathers, the neck ringed about with green and bronze. On the wing, you never would have suspected how very awkward Mahug could be upon his feet. On land he just waddled about in the most ungainly fashion, choosing to fly, usually, rather than walk, because his clumsy webbed feet were not intended for tramping. They were set so far back upon his body that they were of small use to him excepting when he used them for paddles in the water. Mahug was in his element in water or upon the wing. And my, how the old King could dive! In fact, the loon family are all noted divers, for they not only dive deeper than other birds, but they can also stay under water a long time. So quickly could old Mahug dive, that several times in his life when a hunter had fired at him, even before the bullet touched water, the old King Loon was already deep down in the depths of the lake among the snake-like lily roots, safe. This June when Mahug and his mate reached the shores of Black Lake, he sent his great cry of triumph abroad, for he was glad to be there. Then he and his mate nested low among the sedges and rested for the night, but the very next morning, even before the fog lifted from the lake, both set about their nest building. Right upon the ground they built it, and not very carefully, I am afraid, their main idea being to conceal it cleverly behind a thick curtain of reeds and matted water-weeds, but not so very far from the water. In due time three baby loons pipped their dark green shells, and queer looking little specimens of birds they were--bare, homely and always hungry.