“I think,” she said at last, “that it’s getting very dark, and Aunt Edith will be anxious about us; and will you meet us another day? There isn’t time to make us brave and wise to-night.”
“That there ain’t, for sure,” said the mole meaningly.
“But you might tell us where the treasure is,” said Edred.
“That comes last, greedy,” said the mole. “I’ve got to make you kind and wise first, and I see I’ve got my work cut out. Good-night.”
It began to move away.
“Oh, don’t go!” said Elfrida; “we shall never find you again. Oh, don’t! Oh, this is dreadful!”
The mole paused.
“I’ve got to let you find me again. Don’t upset yourself,” it said bitterly. “When you wants me, come up on to the knoll and say a piece of poetry to call me, and I’ll come,” and it started again.
“But what poetry?” Edred asked.
“Oh, anything. You can pick and choose.”