On an open hearth beneath the louvre, or opening for smoke, burnt a fire diffusing all around an incense-like fragrance, from the logs, composed of cinnamon and other choice woods and spices, that fed the flame. The odour and the warmth on a bleak day of May were alike delicious; and King Henry, after heading Dame Alice up to it, stood warming his hands and extolling the choice scent, adding: 'You spoil us, Sir Richard. How are we to go back to the smoke of wood and peat, and fires puffed with our own mouths, after such pampering as this--the costliest fire I have seen in the two realms?' 'It shall be choicer yet, Sir,' said Sir Richard Whittington, who had just handed the Queen to her seat. 'Scarce possible,' replied Henry, 'unless I threw in my crown, and that I cannot afford. I shall be pawning it ere long.' Instead of answering, the Lord Mayor quietly put his hand into his furred pouch, and drawing out a bundle of parchments tied with a ribbon, held them towards the King, with a grave smile. 'Lo you now, Sir Richard,' said Henry, with a playful face of disgust; 'this is to save your dainty meats, by spoiling my appetite by that unwelcome sight. What, man! have you bought up all the bonds I gave in my need to a whole synagogue of Jews and bench of Loin-bards? I shall have to send for my crown before you let me go; though verily,' he added, with frank, open face, 'I'm better off with a good friend like you for my creditor--only I'm sorry for you, Sir Richard. I fear it will be long ere you see your good gold in the stead of your dirty paper, even though I gave you an order on the tolls. How now! What, man, Dick Whittington! Art raving? Here, the tongs!' For Sir Richard, gently smiling, had placed the bundle of bonds on the glowing bed of embers. Henry, even while calling for the tongs, was raking them out with his sword, and would have grasped them in his hand in a moment, but the Lord Mayor caught his arm. 'Pardon, my lord, and grant your new knight's boon.' 'When he is not moon-struck!' said Henry, still guarding the documents. 'Why, my Lady Mayoress, know you what is here?' 'Sixty thousand, my liege,' composedly answered Dame Alice. 'My husband hath his whims, and I pray your Grace not to hinder what he hath so long been preparing.' 'Yea, Sir,' added Whittington, earnestly. 'You wot that God hath prospered us richly. We have no child, and our nephews are well endowed. How, then, can our goods belong to any save God, our king, and the poor?' Henry drew one hand over his eyes, and with the other wrung that of Whittington. 'Had ever king such a subject?' he murmured. 'Had ever subject such a king?' was Whittington's return.