et, and always took care to carry a part of
his dinner to her; and in a short time he had no more trouble with the
rats and mice, but slept quite sound every night.

Soon after this, his master had a ship ready to sail; and as he thought
it right that all his servants should have some chance for good fortune
as well as himself, he called them all into the parlor and asked them
what they would send out.

They all had something that they were willing to venture except poor
Dick, who had neither money nor goods, and therefore could send nothing.

For this reason he did not come into the parlor with the rest; but Miss
Alice guessed what was the matter, and ordered him to be called in. She
then said she would lay down some money for him, from her own purse; but
the father told her this would not do, for it must be something of his
own.

When poor Dick heard this, he said he had nothing but a cat which he
bought for a penny some time since of a little girl.

"Fetch your cat then, my good boy," said Mr. Fitzwarren, "and let her
go."

Dick went upstairs, and with tears in his eyes brought down poor puss,
and gave her to the captain.

All the company laughed at Dick's odd venture; and Miss Alice, who felt
pity for the poor boy, gave him some money to buy another cat.

This, and many other marks of kindness shown him by Miss Alice, made the
ill-tempered cook jealous of poor Dick, and she began to use him more
cruelly than ever, and always made game of him for sending his cat to
sea. She asked him if he thought his cat would sell for as much money as
would buy a stick to beat him.

At last poor Dick could not bear this usage any longer, and he thought
he would run away from this place; so he packed up his few things, and
started very early in the morning, on All-hallows Day, which is the
first of November. He walked as far as Holloway; and there sat down on
a stone, which to this day is called Whittington's Stone, and began to
think to himself which road he should take as he proceeded onward.

While he was thinking what he should do, the Bells of Bow Church, which
at that time had only six, began to ring, and he fancied their sound
seemed to say to him:

"Turn again, Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London."

"Lord Mayor of London!" said he to himself. "Why, to be sure, I would
put up with almost anything now, to be Lord Mayor of London, and ride in
a fine coach, when I grow to be a man! Well, I will go back, and