heels where his head ought to be.

A good many of Benjamin Bat’s friends said he certainly must be crazy,
because he didn’t do as they did. But that never made the slightest
difference in Benjamin Bat’s habits. He continued to zigzag through
life—and hang by his heels—just the same. Perhaps he thought that all
other people were crazy because they didn’t do likewise.

Benjamin often dodged across Solomon Owl’s path, when Solomon was hunting
for field mice. And since Benjamin was the least bit like a mouse
himself—except for his wings—there was a time, once, when Solomon tried to
catch him.

But Solomon Owl soon found that chasing Benjamin Bat made him dizzy. If
Benjamin hadn’t been used to hanging head downward, maybe he would have
been dizzy, too.

Though the two often saw each other, Benjamin Bat never seemed to care to
stop for a chat with Solomon Owl. One night, however, Benjamin actually
called to Solomon and asked his advice. He was in trouble. And he knew
that Solomon Owl was supposed by some to be the wisest old fellow for
miles around.

It was almost morning. And Solomon Owl was hurrying home, because a
terrible storm had arisen. The lightning was flashing, and peals of
thunder crashed through the woods. Big drops of rain were already
pattering down. But Solomon Owl did not care, for he had almost reached
his house in the hollow hemlock near the foot of Blue Mountain.

It was different with Benjamin Bat. That night he had strayed a long