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(
Keep
the
measure
,
Nag
.
)
This
shall
end
when
one
is
dead
;
(
At
thy
pleasure
,
Nag
.
)
Turn
for
turn
and
twist
for
twist
--
(
Run
and
hide
thee
,
Nag
.
)
Hah
!
The
hooded
Death
has
missed
!
(
Woe
betide
thee
,
Nag
!
)
This
is
the
story
of
the
great
war
that
Rikki-tikki-tavi
fought
single-handed
,
through
the
bath-rooms
of
the
big
bungalow
in
Segowlee
cantonment
.
Darzee
,
the
Tailorbird
,
helped
him
,
and
Chuchundra
,
the
musk-rat
,
who
never
comes
out
into
the
middle
of
the
floor
,
but
always
creeps
round
by
the
wall
,
gave
him
advice
,
but
Rikki-tikki
did
the
real
fighting
.
He
was
a
mongoose
,
rather
like
a
little
cat
in
his
fur
and
his
tail
,
but
quite
like
a
weasel
in
his
head
and
his
habits
.
His
eyes
and
the
end
of
his
restless
nose
were
pink
.
He
could
scratch
himself
anywhere
he
pleased
with
any
leg
,
front
or
back
,
that
he
chose
to
use
.
He
could
fluff
up
his
tail
till
it
looked
like
a
bottle
brush
,
and
his
war
cry
as
he
scuttled
through
the
long
grass
was
:
"
Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk
!
"
One
day
,
a
high
summer
flood
washed
him
out
of
the
burrow
where
he
lived
with
his
father
and
mother
,
and
carried
him
,
kicking
and
clucking
,
down
a
roadside
ditch
.
He
found
a
little
wisp
of
grass
floating
there
,
and
clung
to
it
till
he
lost
his
senses
.
When
he
revived
,
he
was
lying
in
the
hot
sun
on
the
middle
of
a
garden
path
,
very
draggled
indeed
,
and
a
small
boy
was
saying
,
"
Here
's
a
dead
mongoose
.
Let
's
have
a
funeral
.
"
