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. He could not
climb the trees, for the people could climb trees, too, and he could not
hide in the grass or under the bushes, for they would be sure to find
him there.

At last, along the river bank, he spied the little violets that had
closed their eyes, but were still gazing at the stars. One little violet
seemed to say to him, "I will hide you," and it folded its little petals
around him. Pan was safe now, and from his hiding place he could hear
the people searching for him. They looked for a long time, but they did
not find him. He was happy and thankful, and, as he was very tired and
the soft petals of the violets made a pleasant resting place, he was
soon fast asleep.

Away back on the river bank, where Pan always sat, were the beetles.
They were very sorry that they had not reached him in time to tell him
that the people were coming, and that they could not get his pipes out
of the water, where they had fallen. And, though they never saw him
again, they always remembered him and the beautiful music he used to
play.