When they could fly no longer they would walk, and when they were
tired walking they would fly again. In this way they hurried on and on,
for the day was growing into night, and they could hear Pan playing his
beautiful songs way down by the river bank. They had almost reached him
when they heard what seemed to be a crowd of people running through the
bushes and among the trees, and it seemed that they were going toward
the river. Next there was a big splash and many voices talking loudly,
and after that--silence. When the beetles reached the place where Pan
always sat they could not find him; but there in the river were his
pipes, which he loved so well.
The people had reached Pan before the beetles, and had pushed him into
the river, and his pipes fell in, too, but Pan did not wait to get them.
He climbed out and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The people
ran after him, but he leaped and bounded over the bushes and flowers,
and ran on and on. Sometimes they were almost upon him, but he always
out-ran them. He wished to hide, but could find no place.
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