The King rejoiced greatly to see his old enemies destroyed by so small a creature, and the Queen was highly pleased, and desired the cat might be brought near that she might look at her.  Upon which the factor called “Pussy, pussy, pussy!” and she came to him.  He then presented her to the Queen, who started back, and was afraid to touch a creature who had made such havoc among the rats and mice; however, when the factor stroked the cat and called “Pussy, pussy!” the Queen also touched her and cried “Putty, putty!” for she had not learned English.

He then put her down on the Queen’s lap, where she, purring, played with her Majesty’s hand, and then sang herself to sleep.

The King, having seen the exploits of Miss Puss, and being informed that her kittens would stock the whole country, bargained with the captain and factor for the whole ship’s cargo, and then gave them ten times as much for the cat as all the rest amounted to.  On which, taking leave of their Majesties and other great personages at court, they sailed with a fair wind for England, whither we must now attend them.

The morn had scarcely dawned when Mr. Fitzwarren arose to count over the cash and settle the business for that day.  He had just entered the counting-house, and seated himself at the desk, when somebody came, tap, tap, at the door.  “Who’s there?” said Mr. Fitzwarren.  “A friend,” answered the other.  “What friend can come at this unseasonable time?” “A real friend is never unseasonable,” answered the other.  “I come to bring you good news of your ship Unicorn.”  The merchant bustled up in such a hurry that he forgot his gout; instantly opened the door, and who should be seen waiting but the captain and factor, with a cabinet of jewels, and a bill of lading, for which the merchant lifted up his eyes and thanked heaven for sending him such a prosperous voyage.  Then they told him the adventures of the cat, and showed him the cabinet of jewels which they had brought for Mr. Whittington.  Upon which he cried out with great earnestness, but not in the most poetical manner: 

  “Go, send him in, and tell him of his fame,
  And call him Mr. Whittington by name.”

It is not our business to animadvert upon these lines; we are not critics, but historians.  It is sufficient for us that they are the words of Mr. Fitzwarren; and though it is beside our purpose, and perhaps not in our power to prove him a good poet, we shall soon convince the reader that he was a good man, which was a much better character; for when some who were present told him that this treasure was too much for such a poor boy as Whittington, he said:  “God forbid that I should deprive him of a penny; it is his own, and he shall have it to a farthing.”  He then ordered Mr. Whittington in, who was at this time cleaning the kitchen and would have excused himself from going into the counting-house, saying the room was swept and his shoes were dirty and full of hob-nails.