He lay on his side with his legs stretched out; his eyes were closed.
But when I stooped over him and cried "Ruby!" his flabby ears pricked, and he began to struggle.
"It's a fit," said the groom.
But it was nothing of the kind.

Rubens knew what he was about, and at last actually got on to his feet, when, after swaying feebly about for a moment, he staggered in my direction (he could not see) and literally fell into my arms, with one last wag of his dear tail.
"They say care killed the cat," said Mrs.Bundle, when I went up to the nursery, "but if it could cure a dog, my deary, your dog would have been alive now.

I never see the Squire so put about since you had the fever.

He was up at five o'clock this very morning, the groom says, putting stuff into the corners of its mouth with a silver teaspoon, and he've had all the cow doctors about to see him, and Dr.
Gilpin himself he've been every day, and Mr.Andrewes the same.

And I'd like to know, my deary, what more could be done for a sick Christian than the doctor and parson with him daily till he dies ?" "A Christian would be buried in the churchyard," said I; "and I wish poor dear Rubens could." But as he couldn't, I made his grave where the churchyard wall skirted the grounds of the Hall.