“Let’s call Pan,” he whispered. Bevis shouted “Pan.” “Pan!” came back in an echo from another part of the quarry. “Pan!” shouted Bevis and Mark together. Pan did not come. They called again and whistled; but he did not come. “Perhaps something has eaten him,” said Mark. “Very likely,” said Bevis. “We ought to have a charm. Don’t forget next time we come to bring a talisman, so that none of these things can touch us.” “I know,” said Mark. “I know.” He took his spear and drew a circle on the platform of sand. “Come inside this. There, that’s it. Now stand still here. A circle is magic, you know.” “So it is,” said Bevis. “Pan! Pan!” Pan did not come. “What’s in those holes?” said Mark, pointing to some large rabbit-burrows on the right side of the quarry. “Mummies,” said Bevis. “You may be sure there are mummies there, and very likely magic writings in their hands. I wish we could get a magic writing. Then we could do anything, and we could know all the secrets.” “What secrets?” “Why, all these things have secrets.” “All?” said Mark. “All,” said Bevis, looking round and pointing with an arrow in his hand. “All the trees, and all the stones, and all the flowers--” “And these?” said Mark, picking up a shell. “Yes, once; but can’t you see it is dead, and the secret, of course, is gone. If we had a magic writing.” “Let’s buy a book,” said Mark. “They are not books; they are rolls, and you unroll them very slowly, and see curious things, pictures that move over the paper--” Boom! They started. Mark lifted his spear, Bevis his bow. A deep, low, and slow sound, like thunder, toned from its many mutterings to a mighty sob, filled their ears for a moment. It might have been very distant thunder, or a cannon in the forts far away. It was one of those mysterious sounds that are heard in summer when the sky is clear and the wind soft, and the midsummer hum is loud. They listened, but it did not come again. “What was that?” said Mark at last. “I don’t know; of course it was something magic.” “Perhaps they don’t like us coming into these magic places,” said Mark. “Perhaps it is to tell us to go away. No doubt Pan is eaten.” “I shall not go away,” said Bevis, as the boom did not come again. “I shall fight first;” and he fitted his arrow to the string. “What’s that!” and in his start he let the arrow fly down among the thistles. It was Pan looking down upon them from the edge above, where he had been waiting ever since they first called him, and wondering why they did not see him. Bevis, chancing to glance up defiantly as he fitted his arrow to shoot the genie of the boom, had caught sight of the spaniel’s face peering over the edge. Angry with Pan for making him start, Bevis picked up a stone and flung it at him, but the spaniel slipped back and escaped it. “Fetch my arrow,” said Bevis, stamping his foot. Mark went down and got it. As he came up the sandy slope he looked back. “There’s a canoe,” he said.