Produced by Roy Brown THE KIPLING READER SELECTIONS FROM THE BOOKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING NEW AND REVISED EDITION MACMILLAN AND CO, LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1923 COPYRIGHT First Edition 1900. Reprinted with corrections 1901. Reprinted 1907, 1908, 1910, 1912, 1914, 1916, 1918 (twice), 1919 (twice), 1920, 1921, 1923. PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN CONTENTS PROSE 'RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI' WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR PART I WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR PART II WEE WILLIE WINKIE A MATTER OF FACT MOWGLI'S BROTHERS THE LOST LEGION NAMGAY DOOLA A GERM-DESTROYER 'TIGER! TIGER!' TODS' AMENDMENT THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN THE FINANCES OF THE GODS MOTI GUJ--MUTINEER POETRY THE NATIVE BORN THE FLOWERS MUNICIPAL THE COASTWISE LIGHTS THE ENGLISH FLAG ENGLAND'S ANSWER THE OVERLAND MAIL IN SPRING TIME 'RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI' At the hole where he went in Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin. Hear what little Red-Eye saith: 'Nag, come up and dance with death!' Eye to eye and head to head, (_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 tailor-bird, 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 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.' 'No,' said his mother; 'let's take him in and dry him. Perhaps he isn't really dead.' They took him into the house, and a big man picked him up between his finger and thumb, and said he was not dead but half choked; so they wrapped him in cotton-wool, and warmed him and he opened his eyes and sneezed. 'Now,' said the big man (he was an Englishman who had just moved into the bungalow); 'don't frighten him and we'll see what he'll do.'