“What a murderous attack!” he exclaimed.  “O, what a brutal attempt to burn a man alive!” and as some hot cinders had got down his back he gave a sharp yell and ran off, singeing and smoking.  Bill, distracted with rage, ran after the Possum, then changed his mind and ran after the Wombat, so that, what with running first after one and then after the other, they both had time to get clean away, and disappeared over the skyline.

“I see it all,” shouted Bill, casting himself down in despair.  “Them low puddin’-thieves has borrowed a fireman’s helmet, collared a hose, an’ set fire to a cowshed in order to lure us away from the Puddin’.”

“The whole thing’s a low put-up job on our noble credulity,” said Sam, casting himself down beside Bill.

“It’s one of the most frightful things that’s ever happened,” said Bill.

“It’s worse than treading on tacks with bare feet,” said Sam.

“It’s worse than bein’ caught stealin’ fowls,” said Bill.

“It’s worse than bein’ stood on by cows,” said Sam.

“It’s almost as bad as havin’ an uncle called
Aldobrantifoscofornio,” said Bill, and they both sang loudly—­

“It’s worse than weevils, worse than warts,
  It’s worse than corns to bear. 
It’s worse than havin’ several quarts
  Of treacle in your hair.

“It’s worse than beetles in the soup,
  It’s worse than crows to eat. 
It’s worse than wearin’ small-sized boots
  Upon your large-sized feet.

“It’s worse than kerosene to boose,
  It’s worse than ginger hair. 
It’s worse than anythin’ to lose
  A Puddin’ rich and rare.”

Bunyip Bluegum reproved this despondency, saying “Come, come, this is no time for giving way to despair.  Let us, rather, by the fortitude of our bearing prove ourselves superior to this misfortune and, with the energy of justly enraged men, pursue these malefactors, who have so richly deserved our vengeance.  Arise!

“The grass is green, the day is fair,
  The dandelions abound. 
Is this a time for sad despair
  And sitting on the ground?

“Let gloom give way to angry glare,
  Let weak despair be drowned,
Let vengeance in its rage declare
  Our Puddin’ must be found.

“Our Puddin’ in some darksome lair
  In iron chains is bound,
While puddin’-snatchers on him fare,
  And eat him by the pound.

“Then let’s resolve to do and dare. 
  Let teeth with rage be ground. 
Let voices to the heavens declare
  Our Puddin’ must be found.”

“Bravely spoken,” said Bill, immediately recovering from despair.  “Those gallant words have fired our blood,” said Sam, and they both shook hands with Bunyip, to show that they were now prepared to follow the call of vengeance.

In order to investigate this dastardly outrage,” said Bunyip, “we must become detectives, and find a clue.  We must find somebody who has seen a singed possum.  Once traced to their lair, mother-wit will suggest some means of rescuing our Puddin’.”