“Oh, you stupid tuft of feathers!” said Rikki-tikki, angrily. “Is this the time to sing?”

“Nag is dead⁠—is dead⁠—is dead!” sang Darzee. “The valiant Rikki-tikki caught him by the head and held fast. The big man brought the bang-stick and Nag fell in two pieces! He will never eat my babies again.”

“All that’s true enough; but where’s Nagaina?” said Rikki-tikki, looking carefully round him.

“Nagaina came to the bathroom sluice and called for Nag,” Darzee went on; “and Nag came out on the end of a stick⁠—the sweeper picked him up on the end of a stick and threw him upon the rubbish-heap. Let us sing about the great, the red-eyed Rikki-tikki!” and Darzee filled his throat and sang.

“If I could get up to your nest, I’d roll all your babies out!” said Rikki-tikki. “You don’t know when to do the right thing at the right time. You’re safe enough in your nest there, but it’s war for me down here. Stop singing a minute, Darzee.”