Part 5 (2/2)

Back to the merchant's his way he took, To the pans and potatoes and cruel cook, And he found Miss Puss a fine device, For she kept his garret clear of mice.

The merchant was sending his s.h.i.+p abroad, And he let each servant share her load; One sent this thing, and one sent that, And little d.i.c.k Whittington sent his cat.

The s.h.i.+p sailed out and over the sea, Till she touched at last at a far country; And while she waited to sell her store, The captain and officers went ash.o.r.e.

They dined with the king; the tables fine Groaned with the meat and fruit and wine; But, as soon as the guests were ranged about, Millions of rats and mice came out.

They swarmed on the table, and on the floor, Up from the crevices, in at the door, They swept the food away in a breath, And the guests were frightened almost to death!

To lose their dinners they thought a shame.

The captain sent for the cat. She came!

And right and left, in a wonderful way, She threw, and slew, and spread dismay.

Then the Moorish king spoke up so bold: ”I will give you eighteen bags of gold, If you will sell me the little thing.”

”I will!” and the cat belonged to the king.

When the good s.h.i.+p's homeward voyage was done, The money was paid to d.i.c.k Whittington; At his master's wish 'twas put in trade; Each dollar another dollar made.

Richer he grew each month and year, Honored by all both far and near; With his master's daughter for a wife, He lived a prosperous, n.o.ble life.

And the tune the Bow-bells sang that day, When to Highgate Hill he ran away,-- ”Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London town,”-- In the course of time came true and right, He was Mayor of London, and Sir Knight; And in English history he is known, By the name of Sir Richard Whittington!

PUSS IN BOOTS.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A miller had three sons, And, on his dying day, He willed that all he owned should be Shared by them in this way: The mill to this, and the donkey to that, And to the youngest only the cat.

This last, poor fellow, of course Thought it a bitter fate; With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed, Of hunger, sooner or late.

And he stormed, with many a bitter word, Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.

She stretched, and began to purr, Then came to her master's knee, And, looking slyly up, began: ”Pray be content with me!

Get me a pair of boots ere night, And a bag, and it will be all right!”

The youth sighed heavy sighs, And laughed a scornful laugh: ”Of all the silly things I know, You're the silliest, by half!”

Still, after a s.p.a.ce of doubt and thought, The pair of boots and the bag were bought.

And Puss, at the peep of dawn, Was out upon the street, With shreds of parsley in her bag, And the boots upon her feet.

She was on her way to the woods, for game, And soon to the rabbit-warren came.

And the simple rabbits cried, ”The parsley smells like spring!”

And into the bag their noses slipped, And p.u.s.s.y pulled the string.

Only a kick, and a gasp for breath, And, one by one, they were choked to death.

So Sly Boots bagged her game, And gave it an easy swing Over her shoulder; and, starting off For the palace of the king, She found him upon his throne, in state, While near him his lovely daughter sate.

Puss made a graceful bow No courtier could surpa.s.s, And said, ”I come to your Highness from The Marquis of Carabas.

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