"In that case," said the Fireman, "I invite all present to bravely assist in putting it out. But," he added impressively, "if you'll take my advice, you'll shove that Puddin' in this hollow log and roll a stone agen the end to keep him in, for if he gets too near the flames he'll be cooked again and have his flavour ruined." "This is a very sensible feller," said Bill, and though Puddin' objected strongly, he was at once pushed into a log and securely fastened in with a large stone. "How'd you like to be shoved in a blooming log," he shouted at Bill, "when you was burning with anxiety to see the fire?" but Bill said severely, "Be sensible, Albert, fires is too dangerous to Puddins' flavours." No more time was lost in seizing the hose and they set off with the greatest enthusiasm. For, as everyone knows, running with the reel is one of the grand joys of being a fireman. They had the hose fixed to a garden tap in no time, and soon were all hard at work, putting out the fire. Of course there was a great deal of smoke and shouting, and getting tripped up by the hose, and it was by the merest chance Bunyip Bluegum glanced back in time to see the Wombat in the act of stealing the Puddin' from the hollow log. "Treachery is at work," he shouted. "Treachery," roared Bill, and with one blow on the snout knocked the Fireman endways on into the burning cinders, where his helmet fell off, and exposed the countenance of that snooting, snouting scoundrel, the Possum. The Possum, of course, hadn't expected to have his disguise pierced so swiftly, and, though he managed to scramble out of the fire in time to save his bacon, he was considerably singed down the back. "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.