where once were the monks' old cloisters. In one part of the church
was a blacksmith's forge, a fringe factory had taken possession of
another, and in still another the boys of the parish school did their
lessons. Now all this has been changed. For more than fifty years
much care, thought and money have been spent in restoring the building
and in getting rid of stables, forge, factory, and school; and now
Londoners have every reason to be proud of their beautiful old church.

{39}

V.

THE STORY AND HISTORY OF DICK WHITTINGTON

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

Bow bells sang these words on All-Hallows Day many years ago, and on
Highgate Hill a boy stood listening to them. If I ask you who the boy
was, I am sure you will answer, "Dick Whittington."

The story of Dick Whittington can be told in two very different ways:
there is, first, the old tale which long ago men told their children,
and these children told their children. Thus it was passed on from
father to son, and we do not know that it was ever written down until
the days of James I., nearly two hundred years after Whittington died.
Of course, everyone who told this tale wanted to make it as interesting
as possible, so little bits were added to it, and it gradually grew
more and more wonderful. It is not surprising, then, that learned men
have not been satisfied with it, and they have searched the Chronicles
and Records of London to find out what they tell us of Richard
Whittington, and thus a second story has been made. Now I will tell
you first the older story.

Dick Whittington was born in the West of England. While he was still
only a little boy his father and mother died, and left him so poor that
he had no home, and was thankful to do even the hardest work {40} for
just his bare food. One day someone told him that the streets of
London were paved with gold. "Can it be true?" he thought to himself.
"Is there so much gold in London that it is trodden underfoot? Then it
is my own fault if I starve here in the West Country, for am I not big
enough and brave enough to tramp all the way up to London? Who could
prevent me from picking up some of that gold which surely no one needs,
or they would not pave the streets with it? And I need it so much!
Courage, Dick Whittington; off with you to London!" So off he set, and
tramped all the weary way to the great city.

==================================================