When the Cathedral clock struck
twelve there was an answer--like an
echo of the chimes--and Simpkin
heard it, and came out of the tailor's
door, and wandered about in the
snow.


From all the roofs and gables and
old wooden houses in Gloucester
came a thousand merry voices singing
the old Christmas rhymes--all the old
songs that ever I heard of, and some
that I don't know, like Whittington's
bells.

Under the wooden eaves the
starlings and sparrows sang of
Christmas pies; the jackdaws woke up
in the Cathedral tower; and although
it was the middle of the night the
throstles and robins sang; and air was
quite full of little twittering tunes.

But it was all rather provoking to
poor hungry Simpkin.

From the tailor's ship in Westgate
came a glow of light; and when
Simpkin crept up to peep in at the