azz measures are
stolen from Mendelssohn's Spring Song. He did not know this. The leaves
rustled. He did not turn his head.

"Hello, Pan!" said a voice. A girl came down the slope and seated
herself beside him. She was not smiling.

Nick removed the harmonica from his lips and wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. "Hello who?"

"Hello, Pan."

"Wrong number, lady," Nick said, and again applied his lips to the mouth
organ. The girl laughed then, throwing back her head. Her throat was
long and slim and brown. She clasped her knees with her arms and looked
at Nick amusedly. Nick thought she was a kind of homely little thing.

"Pan," she explained, "was a pagan deity. He played pipes in the woods."

"'S all right with me," Nick ventured, bewildered but amiable. He wished
she'd go away. But she didn't. She began to take off her shoes and
stockings. She went down to the water's edge, then, and paddled her
feet. Nick sat up, outraged. "Say, you can't do that."

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Oh, yes, I can. It's so
hot." She wriggled her toes ecstatically.

The leaves rustled again, briskly, unmistakably this time. A heavy
tread. A rough voice. "Say, looka here! Get out of there, you! What
the----" A policeman, red-faced, wroth. "You can't do that! Get outa
here!"

It was like a movie, Nick thought.

The girl turned her head. "Oh, now, Mr. Elwood," she said.

"Oh, it's you, miss," said the policeman. You would not have believed it
could be the same policeman. He even giggled. "Thought you was away."

"I was. In fact, I am, really. I just got sick of it and ran away for a
day. Drove. Alone. The family'll be wild."

"All the way?" said the policeman, incredulously. "Say, I thought that
looked like your car standing out there by the road; but I says no, she
ain't in town." He looked sharply at Nick, whose face had an Indian
composure, though his feelings were mixed. "Who's this?"

"He's a friend of mine. His name's Pan." She was drying her feet with an
inadequate rose-coloured handkerchief. She crept crabwise up the bank,
and put on her stockings and slippers.

"Why'n't you come out and set on a bench?" suggested the policeman,
worriedly.

The girl shook her head. "In Arcadia we don't sit on benches. I should
think you'd know that. Go on away, there's a dear. I want to talk to
this--to Pan."

He persisted. "What'd your pa say, I'd like to know!" The girl shrugged
her shoulders. Nick made as