Atalapha, a Winged Brownte 
THE RACE WITH THE SWALLOWS 
The fiercer the fire the faster it fades; and when 
seven suns had sunk on Marcy Vale, Atalapha and 
his bride, and the merry mated host that came that 
night from Saranac, were roaming in the higher 
winds with calmer flights and moods. The coursers 
of the night went often now alone. The ardor of 
the honeymoon was over, and strange to tell with 
the dulling of that fire the colors of their coats 
dulled, too. 
August the Red Moon passed, and according to 
their custom the Bats prepared to go, like ancient 
pilgrims, in two great flights, the males in one, their 
consorts in a different later company. 
Atalapha had seen no more of Silver-brown dur- 
ing the last week than he had of many others, and 
the law was easily obeyed. She was living with her 
kind, and he with his. 
Then came again the stirring times when the 
nights turned cold. At last there was a nip of frost, 
and a great unrest ran through the Bat community. 
Next morning, after feed time, Atalapha made not 
for his lurking place, but wheeled toward the open, 
and after him the flittering host sailing and circling 
high. They were not dashing in feverish excite- 
ment as a month before, but wheeling upward as 
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