To get into the past like we used to do.
Dear Mouldiwarp, we don’t want to worry
You—but we are in a frightful hurry.”
“So you be always,” said the white Mouldiwarp, suddenly appearing between them on the yellowy dry grass. “Well, well! Youth’s the season for silliness. What’s to do now? I be turble tired of all this. I wish I’d only got to give ye the treasure and go my ways. You don’t give a poor Mouldiwarp a minute’s rest. You do terrify me same’s flies, you do.”
“Is there any other way,” said Elfrida, “to get back into the past? We can’t find the door now.”
“Course you can’t,” said the mole. “That’s a chance gone, and gone for ever.
“‘He that will not when he may,
He shall not when he would-a.’
Well, tell me where you want to go, and I’ll make you a backways-working white clock.”
“Anywhere you like,” said Edred incautiously.