I did not guess that Rufina was asleep in the bag; the night was pitch dark. I saw nothing, and closing the window again, went to bed.
The snow was falling so thickly I could scarcely see him. [See page 24].
Next morning, hearing a tiny pattering about eight o’clock, I got up to peep and see my little pets. What was my astonishment and distress to see Rufina’s little form dangling, stiff and cold, from the platform against the sleeping-box. Above, there glared down upon me the horror-struck face of Peter, with eyes starting out of his head, and ears frantically bristling. Only for a second, for, catching sight of me, he bolted precipitately. I opened the window, jumped on the sill, and stretching up as far as I could, felt Rufina’s little body. It was quite stiff and quite cold. Her head was caught and jammed between the platform and the sleeping-box; there was the space of a couple of inches or so between the two. It seemed an inexplicable thing that a squirrel should get its head into an interstice from which it could not withdraw it, or that, having got its whole head in, it should not have been able to draw its shoulders after it.
I think and hope that in her struggles she may have broken her neck at once; she had no purchase below with which to help herself. The accident could never have happened in the daylight. I was convinced, upon reflection, that my opening the casement overnight had startled her into jumping out of the serge bag, and that she had blindly made for the hole in the sleeping-box some three feet above. She must have missed the perch from which she always scrambled upon the platform, and from thence to the nest.
This nesting-box and platform had been in the same relative positions for a year and a half. No other squirrel had jammed its head in between them; nor would Rufina have made the mistake had she not been in the dark, and blind and stupid with sleep.
These conclusions came to me afterwards. For the moment I extricated the little body with difficulty from the death-trap, and tried for nearly an hour to bring back life. So amazed and puzzled was I at first that I could not believe she had hanged herself. I thought she was merely frozen; for it had been a bitterly cold night, with ice everywhere. I brought her to my fire, and strove by moving her little arms backwards and forwards to bring breath back into the lungs. I chafed her tiny close-shut claws; I held her by the fire, and rubbed her beautiful little body. She was in such perfect condition, and so exquisitely clean and sweet!
When all hope was abandoned, I laid her gently on the floor of the cage to see what Peter would do, and whether he would show any sign of grief. At sight of me at the window he fled, wildly jibbering, stamping his feet, and screaming. Here was fresh lead on my heart. It was bad enough to lose Rufina, but that Peter should look upon me as her murderer was the sharpest cut of all!
