Maitland, the most important of these way stations, that we met Loon.
Maitland is almost a village, an old settlement, in fact, with a store
or two, some pretty houses and a mill. Loon is a dog of the hound
variety who makes his home there, and a dear and faithful friend of
Eddie's, by the latter's account. Indeed, as we drew near Maitland,
after announcing that he would wish to stop at the Maitland stores to
procure some new things he had thought of, Eddie became really boastful
of an earlier friendship with Loon. He had met Loon on a former visit,
during his (Loon's) puppyhood days, and he had recorded the meeting in
his diary, wherein Loon had been set down as "a most intelligent and
affectionate young dog." He produced the diary now as evidence, and I
could see that our guides were impressed by this method of systematic
and absolute record which no one dare dispute. He proceeded to tell us
all he knew about Loon, and how glad Loon would be to see him again,
until we were all jealous that no intelligent and affectionate hound dog
was waiting for us at Maitland to sound the joy of welcome and to speed
us with his parting bark.

Then all at once we were at Maitland and before Loon's home, and sure
enough there in the front yard, wagging both body and tail, stood Loon.
It took but one glance for Eddie to recognize him. Perhaps it took no
more than that for Loon to recognize Eddie. I don't know; but what he
did was this: He lifted up his voice as one mourning for a lost soul and
uttered such a series of wails and lamentations as only a hound dog in
the deepest sorrow can make manifest.

"Wow-ow-oo-ow-wow-oo-oo-o."

The loon bird sends a fairly unhappy note floating down the wet, chill
loneliness of a far, rainy lake, but never can the most forlorn of loons
hope to approach his canine namesake of Maitland. Once more he broke
out into a burst of long-drawn misery, then suddenly took off under the
house as if he had that moment remembered an appointment there, and
feared he would be late. But presently he looked out, fearfully enough,
and with his eyes fixed straight on Eddie, set up still another of those
heart-breaking protests.

As for Eddie, I could see that he was hurt. He climbed miserably down
from the wagon and crept gently toward the sorrowing hound.

"Nice Loon--nice, good Loon. Don't you remember me?"

"Wow-ow-oo-ow-wow-oo-oo-o," followed by another disappearance under the
house.

"Come, Loon, come out an