blood ran down. In this
situation, and fainting for want of food, he laid himself down at the
door of one Mr. Fitzwarren, a merchant, where the cook saw him, and,
being an ill-natured hussy, ordered him to go about his business or she
would scald him. At this time Mr. Fitzwarren came from the Exchange, and
began also to scold at the poor boy, bidding him to go to work.

Whittington answered that he should be glad to work if anybody would
employ him, and that he should be able if he could get some victuals to
eat, for he had had nothing for three days, and he was a poor country
boy, and knew nobody, and nobody would employ him.

He then endeavored to get up, but he was so very weak that he fell down
again, which excited so much compassion in the merchant that he ordered
the servants to take him in and give him some meat and drink, and let
him help the cook to do any dirty work that she had to set him about.
People are too apt to reproach those who beg with being idle, but give
themselves no concern to put them in the way of getting business to do,
or considering whether they are able to do it, which is not charity.

But we return to Whittington, who could have lived happy in this worthy
family had he not been bumped about by the cross cook, who must be
always roasting and basting, or when the spit was idle employed her
hands upon poor Whittington! At last Miss Alice, his master's daughter,
was informed of it, and then she took compassion on the poor boy, and
made the servants treat him kindly.

Besides the crossness of the cook, Whittington had another difficulty
to get over before he could be happy. He had, by order of his master, a
flock-bed placed for him in a garret, where there was a number of rats
and mice that often ran over the poor boy's nose and disturbed him
in his sleep. After some time, however, a gentleman who came to his
master's house gave Whittington a penny for brushing his shoes. This
he put into his pocket, being determined to lay it out to the best
advantage; and the next day, seeing a woman in the street with a cat
under her arm, he ran up to know the price of it. The woman (as the cat
was a good mouser) asked a deal of money for it, but on Whittington's
telling her he had but a penny in the world, and that he wanted a cat
sadly, she let him have it.

This cat Whittington concealed in the garret, for fear she should be
beat about by his mortal enemy the cook, and here she soon killed or
frighte