Rotten wood, bits of rubbish of all kinds began to rain down upon me through the smoke which still hung about the hollow interior of the tree. Thinking any fate better than dying like a rat in a trap, I climbed back up the wall of my refuge in an attempt to reach the knot-hole again. Half suffocated and completely dazed, I did manage to struggle up to it, got my paws on either side and tried to force my way through. Alas! A splinter broke away from the rough wood at the edge of the hole, and pinned me helplessly. I could get neither forward nor back.
Fate was too strong for me. I gave up all hope, and ceased to struggle. In another minute at most the boy would find me, and I should share poor Crab’s fate. I heard a crash as the chopper broke through the bark below, and Zeke’s voice:
‘Vather, ’e be up top again.’
Then it seemed to me that a miracle happened. Instead of the old fellow’s voice, the crisp, curt tones that cut the air were those of my one-time master, Jack.
‘Hi, you fellows, what are you about?’
Down dropped Zeke. There followed a crash among the bushes. A short interval. Would Jack find me? I struggled again furiously, but in vain. The splinter held me tight, and the only result of my efforts was exquisite pain.
‘I wonder what those gipsy chaps were after?’ came Jack’s voice. ‘I’d better have a look.’
Fresh sounds of scrambling, and all of a sudden my master’s face over the edge of the gnarled oak crown.
‘Why, it’s a squirrel!’