Great Expectations | Page 8

me--"such a most oncommon Bolt as that!"
"Been bolting his food, has he?" cried my sister.
"You know, old chap," said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in
his cheek, "I Bolted, myself, when I was your age--frequent--and as a boy I've been
among a many Bolters; but I never see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it's a mercy you

ain't Bolted dead."
My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the
awful words, "You come along and be dosed."
Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine, and Mrs. Joe
always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; having a belief in its virtues correspondent to
its nastiness. At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a
choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new fence. On this
particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this mixture, which was
poured down my throat, for my greater comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her
arm, as a boot would be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to
swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and meditating before
the fire), "because he had had a turn." Judging from myself, I should say he certainly had
a turn afterwards, if he had had none before.
Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in the case of a boy,
that secret burden co-operates with another secret burden down the leg of his trousers, it
is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs.
Joe--I never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the
housekeeping property as his--united to the necessity of always keeping one hand on my
bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about the kitchen on any small errand,
almost drove me out of my mind. Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare,
I thought I heard the voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me
to secrecy, declaring that he couldn't and wouldn't starve until to-morrow, but must be fed
now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty
restrained from imbruing his hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or
should mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver
to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody's hair stood on end with terror, mine must
have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody's ever did?
It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from
seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made me
think afresh of the man with the load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to
bring the bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away,
and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.
"Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney
corner before being sent up to bed; "was that great guns, Joe?"
"Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off."
"What does that mean, Joe?" said I.
Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, "Escaped.
Escaped." Administering the definition like Tar-water.
While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my mouth into the

forms of saying to Joe, "What's a convict?" Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning
such a highly elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word
"Pip."
"There was a conwict off last night," said Joe, aloud, "after sunset-gun. And they fired
warning of him. And now it appears they're firing warning of another."
"Who's firing?" said I.
"Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, "what a questioner
he is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies."
It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be told lies by her even
if I did ask questions. But she never was polite unless there was company.
At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his
mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like "sulks."
Therefore,