came down and hit me right in the face--almost."

"That bat bite you!" retorted Uncle Andy with a sniff of scorn. "Why,
he was doing you the most friendly turn he knew how. No doubt there
was a big mosquito just going to bite you, and that little chap there
snapped it up in time to save you. There are lots of folk beside bats
that get themselves misunderstood just when they are trying hardest to
do some good."

"Oh, I see!" murmured the Child politely--which, of course, meant that
he did not see at all what Uncle Andy was driving at. "_Why_ do bats
get themselves misunderstood, Uncle Andy?"

His uncle eyed him narrowly. He was always suspecting the Child of
making game of him--than which nothing could be further from the
Child's honest and rather matter-of-fact intentions. The question, to
be sure, was rather a poser. While he pondered a reply to
it--apparently absorbed in the task of relighting his pipe--the Child's
attention was diverted. And forever the question of why bats get
themselves misunderstood remained unanswered.

The bat chanced at the moment to be zig-zagging only a dozen feet or so
away, when from the empty air above, as if created on the instant out
of nothingness, dropped a noiseless, shadowy shape of wings. It seemed
to catch the eccentric little flutterer fairly. But it didn't--for the
bat was a marvelous adept at dodging. With a lightning swerve it
emerged from under the great wings and darted behind Uncle Andy's head.
The baffled owl, not daring to come so near the hated man-creatures,
winnowed off in ghostly silence.