THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 205 



"Butternutly yours," quoted Alice-Palace as they 

 hurried down the long hill. 



Have you ever dreamed of writing a wonderful 

 poem, and then waked up and found that you had 

 forgotten it; or, worse still, that it was n't wonderful 

 at all? That is what happened to me the other 

 night. All that was left of the lost masterpiece was 

 the following alleged verse: — 



After dark everybody's house 



Belongs to the little brown Flittermouse. 



I admit that the mystery and pathos and beauty 

 which that verse seemed to have in dreamland have 

 some way evaporated in daylight. So as I can't give 

 to the world any poetry in praise of my friend the 

 Flittermouse, I must do what I can for him in prose. 

 In the first place, his everyday name is Bat. Our 

 forebears knew him as the flying or "flitter" mouse. 

 Probably, too, he is the original of the Brownie, that 

 ugly brown elf that used to flit about in the twilight. 



He is perhaps the best equipped of all of our mam- 

 mals, for he flies better than any bird, is a strong 

 though unwilling swimmer, and is also fairly active 

 on the ground. In addition, he has such an ex- 

 quisite sense of feeling, that he is able to fly at full 

 speed in the dark, steering his course and instantly 

 avoiding any obstacle by the mere feel of the air- 

 currents. In fact, the bat's whole body, including 

 the ribs and edges of its wings, may be said to be 

 full of eyes. These are highly developed nerve-end- 



