“I don’t hold with hunting,” said the Mouldiwarp hastily, “nor yet with dogs. I never could abide dogs, drat the nasty, noisy, toothy things! Here, come inside.”
“Inside where?” said Edred.
“Inside my house,” said the mole.
And then, whether they all got smaller or whether the crack in the chalk got bigger they never quite knew, but they found themselves walking that crack one by one. Only Elfrida got hold of Richard’s hand and held it fast, though he wriggled and twisted to get it free.
“I’m not going back to your own times with you,” he said. “I’ll go my own way.”
“Where to?” said Elfrida.
“To wherever I choose,” said Richard savagely, and regained possession of his own hand. It was too late—the chalk had closed over them all.
As the chalk had closed so thoroughly that not a gleam of daylight could be seen, you might have expected the air they had to breathe to be close and stuffy. Not a bit of it! Coming into the Mouldiwarp’s house out of the May sunshine was like coming out of a human house into the freshness of a May night. But it was darker than any night that ever was. Elfrida got hold of Edred’s hand and then of Richard’s. She always tried to remember what she was told, and the Mouldiwarp had said, “Always hold hands when there’s magic about.”
Richard let his hand be taken, but he said, quite sternly, “You understand I mean what I say: I won’t go back to their times with them.”
“You were much nicer in James the First’s time,” said Elfrida.