Without waiting for breakfast, Rikki-tikki ran to the thornbush where Darzee was singing a song of triumph at the top of his voice.  The news of Nag’s death was all over the garden, for the sweeper had thrown the body on the rubbish-heap.

“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 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.”

“For the great, the beautiful Rikki-tikki’s sake I will stop,” said Darzee.  “What is it, O Killer of the terrible Nag?”

“Where is Nagaina, for the third time?”

“On the rubbish heap by the stables, mourning for Nag.  Great is Rikki-tikki with the white teeth.”

“Bother my white teeth!  Have you ever heard where she keeps her eggs?”

“In the melon bed, on the end nearest the wall, where the sun strikes nearly all day.  She hid them there weeks ago.”

“And you never thought it worth while to tell me?  The end nearest the wall, you said?”

“Rikki-tikki, you are not going to eat her eggs?”

“Not eat exactly; no.  Darzee, if you have a grain of sense you will fly off to the stables and pretend that your wing is broken, and let Nagaina chase you away to this bush.  I must get to the melon-bed, and if I went there now she’d see me.”

Darzee was a feather-brained little fellow who could never hold more than one idea at a time in his head.  And just because he knew that Nagaina’s children were born in eggs like his own, he didn’t think at first that it was fair to kill them.  But his wife was a sensible bird, and she knew that cobra’s eggs meant young cobras later on.  So she flew off from the nest, and left Darzee to keep the babies warm, and continue his song about the death of Nag.  Darzee was very like a man in some ways.

She fluttered in front of Nagaina by the rubbish heap and cried out, “Oh, my wing is broken!  The boy in the house threw a stone at me and broke it.”  Then she fluttered more desperately than ever.

Nagaina lifted up her head and hissed, “You warned Rikki-tikki when I would have killed him.  Indeed and truly, you’ve chosen a bad place to be lame in.”  And she moved toward Darzee’s wife, slipping along over the dust.