Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
top. Each evening their routine was the same. 
After sunset the horde of smaller Bats, then with 
twilight the smaller group of the Great Northern 
Bats. Leaving their den, they flew first to the 
river, where they drank as they sped along. Then 
for half an hour they hawked and fed on insects 
taken on the wing. Last came a time of social 
play, racing, chasing, games of tag and _ touch- 
me-not, with others of a dangerous kind. One of 
these, a favorite in time of heavy heat, was shoot- 
ing the chutes where the Saranac leaps over a rocky 
ledge to be forgotten in foam. The reckless young- 
sters of the Bat fraternity would drop for a mo- 
ment in the arrowy flood above the fall, and as 
they were shot into the abyss, would ply their 
dripping wings and sail through the spray-mist 
to repeat the chute, perhaps. There was no lack 
of danger in the sport, and more than one that 
summer took the leap to be seen no more. 
Still another game of hazard had a little vogue. 
In the Saranac were great grown Trout; at the 
rare times when the Northern Bats chanced out 
before the sun was wholly gone, these Trout would 
leap at flies that the lesser Bats were chasing, and 
more than once a Bat that ventured low was leaped 
at by the monster Trout and barely escaped. 
Then in a spirit of daredevil did Atalapha skim 
170 
