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DOG STORIES 



would go to bed willingly. John used to 

 come to the drawing-room door and call him, 

 and he would go to it, but stand growling 

 till he was caught up and carried off. That 

 evening, as we remembered, he seemed more 

 than ever unwilling to go, but was caught up 

 and carried away. 



In the morning, about six o'clock it was 

 summer-time I was just about to get up, 

 when John Lambert knocked at my door, 

 and came in with Sprig in his arms. He did 

 not speak, and I asked him whether Sprig 

 was worse. "He's dead, sir," said he, with 

 the tears rolling down his face, and hardly 

 able to speak. " Quite dead, sir ; he must 

 have died only a little while ago, for when I 

 went to let him out, I found him dead and 

 quite warm, as he is still." I am not 

 ashamed to write that my eyes felt very 

 blind, but there was no hope ; the dear little 

 fellow was quite dead ; he had died calmly, 

 and his eyes were bright ; they had not 

 glazed. 



We buried him, John and myself, when he 

 was quite cold and stiff, by a rose-tree at the 



