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caught the word, he ordered puss to be brought, and made Whittington deliver her up, with his own hands to the captain; but not until Miss, in order to show the value of Dick's venture to all present, had made her perform all her sportive tricks, to the equal surprise and pleasure of the whole company, except the cook; who beheld the boy part from her, with a heart-breaking look, wholly unmoved.
Whittington a second time hid himself, to conceal his grief from all eyes; but strange to tell, the whole scene operated so maliciously on the cook's mind, from thinking the boy was too kindly treated, and such like ideas, that she made it her daily practice to tease and torment him; either about having parted with his poor cat, that he pretended to have so much love for, she would say; or his vanity and folly in setting so high a value on her. "A fine cargo, no doubt," cried she, “she will bring you in return! Perhaps herself; that is," she would add, “her skin stuffed, to supply the place of her lifeless body, and to make her look as if she was alive!"
Whittington was so distressed by these taunts and jeers, that he was obliged to call all his reason, and all the good lessons his old deceased friend had taught him, in aid, to enable him to support them; for her unprovoked malice embittered his life: and the more especially, as, by losing his cat, he was cut off from the consoling looks and words of his dear young mistress.
At length, however, quite terrified at his own feelings, without having the relief of breathing them to any one, he resolved to run away; for in his opinion, to die of grief that ought to be conquered, or by human means, was alike offensive to his Maker. Having tied up a trifle or two, he contrived to slip them out of doors, and soon follow them. He stopped and looked back on the paradise he had quitted with grief. Never should he hear his master's kind voice more; never more receive his mistress's gentle commands, nor behold his dear young lady again! But finding the more he lingered, the more languid his resolution became, he set off, and never once stopped until he reached the stone at the foot of Highgate Hill; which, from his having there rested himself, is called "Whittington's Stone" to this day.
The poor fellow's mind was so agitated, he knew not what he saw or heard, until roused into attention by Bow bells, which, as it was their custom on All-hallow's day, began to ring a peal; that, by the force of fancy, sounded in his ear,—
Turn again Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London!
He suddenly jumped up, and rubbed his eyes, that he might be
