Soon after this Mr. Fitzwarren had a ship ready to sail; and as it was his custom that all his servants should be given a chance of good fortune as well as himself, he called them all into the counting-house 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 so could send nothing.  For this reason he did not come into the room with the rest.  But Miss Alice guessed what was the matter, and ordered him to be called in.  She then said, “I will lay down some money for him out of my own purse”; but her father told her that would not do, for it must be something of his own.

When Dick heard this he said, “I have nothing whatever but a cat, which I bought for a penny some time ago.”

“Go, my boy, fetch your cat then,” said his master, “and let her go.”

Dick went upstairs and fetched poor puss, but there were tears in his eyes when he gave her to the captain.  “For,” he said, “I shall now be kept awake all night by the rats and mice.”  All the company laughed at Dick’s odd venture, and Miss Alice, who felt sorry for him, gave him some money to buy another cat.

Now this, and 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 was always making game of him for sending his cat to sea.  “What do you think your cat will sell for?” she’d ask.  “As much money as would buy a stick to beat you with?”

At last poor Dick could not bear this usage any longer, and he thought he would run away.  So he made a bundle of his things—­he hadn’t many—­and started very early in the morning, on All-hallows Day, the first of November.  He walked as far as Holloway, and there he sat down to rest on a stone, which to this day, they say, is called “Whittington’s Stone,” and began to wonder to himself which road he should take.

[Illustration:  Dick Whittington hears Bow Bells]

While he was thinking what he should do the Bells of Bow Church in Cheapside began to chime, and as they rang he fancied that they were singing over and over again: 

  “Turn again, Whittington,
   Lord Mayor of London.”

“Lord Mayor of London!” said he to himself.  “Why, to be sure, wouldn’t I 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’ll go back, and think nothing of the cuffing and scolding of the cross old cook if I am to be Lord Mayor of London at last.”

So back he went, and he was lucky enough to get into the house and set about his work before the cook came down.