“Are there not strange creatures in these deserted places?”
“Sometimes,” said Bevis. “Sometimes there are things with wings, which have spikes on them, and they have eyes that burn you.”
Mark grasped his knife and spear, and looked into the beds of thistles and nettles, which would conceal anything underneath.
“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!”