Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
flying with some new acquaintances of the younger 
set, when the soft singing “‘hee-o0, hee-oo’’ was taken 
up by all and trooping together from divers parts 
of the broad valley the long-winged coursers came. 
They swirled like smoke around the cliffs of Marcy, 
they careered in a body, then they began to ascend 
in a great sweeping spiral. At first in one long 
wreathing cloud, but later in two separate bodies, 
and those with eyes to see would have known that 
the upper swarm was wholly of males, the lower of 
female Bats. 
The clamor of their calling made a thin, fine 
murmur in the upper air, but it was chilly there, 
their voices died away and with one impulse they 
turned to the south, as the mountain-top turned 
red, and flew and flew and flew. 
Every male of that gathering was there: instinc- 
tively Atalapha had joined them, and they flew 
with steady, uncurveted flight in ever-lengthening 
procession, on and on, all day, ignoring the sun, 
heeding not the pang of hunger, till in the evening 
they straggled into a wood far to the southward, 
and rested in the trees a while before beginning 
to hunt for food. 
The females, including the Little Mother, were 
left behind in the shadows about Mount Marcy to 
follow in another band when the males were well 
163 
