Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
till the crawling sea was far below them, and its 
foaming sandy shore was the line that guided their 
army now. 
The day had opened fair, but they had not sailed 
an hour before the sky was darkened, a noisy wind 
was blowing in changing ways, and an overstream 
of air came down that was stinging, numbing cold. 
Wise Bats know that the upper air may be warm 
when the world is cold, and Atalapha soaring led 
in a long, strong, upward slope, and on a warmer 
plane he sped away. But ina little while the world 
below was hidden in a flying spume of fog that was 
driven with whiteness, and in that veil the Bats 
again were lost: only the few strong flyers near him 
could be seen; but Atalapha sped on. He saw no 
landmarks, but he had a winged thing’s compass 
sense. So he flew high above the veiled world, 
never halting or fearing—but on. 
He would surely have kept the line and outflown 
the storm but for a strange mischance that brought 
him face to face with an ancient foe. 
The mizzling fog and driving sleet had ceased for 
a little so that he could see some distance around. 
A few of his daily comrades were there, but among 
them flying also was the huge brown form of a Hawk. 
He was sailing and flapping by turns, and easily 
wheeling southward rather than moving by direct 
199 
NS 
(Ws 
