Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
air, and about that pool found a plenteous feast— 
found food in a glad abundance. 
* * * * * * * 
Who would follow his unheroic winter life in 
those isles of eternal summer? Or who will doubt 
the spring unrest that surely comes, though there 
be no vernalization of the hills? Or the craving 
for home and at last the bold dash on a favoring 
wind over ocean’s broad, pitiless expanse, with the 
clamoring birds, and of his landing, not broken, 
but worn, in the pines of a sandy coast, and the 
northwest flight on the southeast wind, with his 
kin once more, till again ere the change of the moon 
he was back on the reaches of Saranac, chasing the 
fat noctuas, scooping the green darapsas, or tear- 
ing the orange tiger-moths that one time looked 
so big and strong to him? 
You may see him if you will, along the pond 
above Haskins’ mill; you will know him by his 
size and marvellous flight. You may see him, too, 
if you spend a winter in the Bermudas, for he loves 
to take that vast heroic flight just as an Eagle 
glories in the highest blue for the joy of being 
alone on the noblest plane of exploit. 
Yet another thing you should know: If you seek 
the cool green forest aisles made by the Beaver 
206 
