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Authors: Charles Dickens
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was a pork pie Joe’s Uncle Pumblechook had brought for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. Then I took some brandy and a file from Joe’s workshop. I ran to the churchyard. I couldn’t wait to deliver the supplies and be done with the convict.
The convict was happy to see me. I gave him the items he wanted and raced back home. I fell into a fitful sleep, huddled under my blanket. The shrill sound of a file scraping leg irons cut through my dreams.
The next day was Christmas. Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at the church, was dining with us. Joe’s Uncle Pumblechook was also there.
I sat at the table and worried. Soon my sister would find out that the brandy and the pork pie were gone. Then I would really be in trouble!
Dinner went on and on. I began to think I might survive the night. Then my sister said, “I almost forgot! Uncle Pumblechook gave us a pork pie.”
She went to the pantry to get the pie, but she returned with an empty plate.
“Gracious me,” she said. “It’s gone. The pie is gone.”
I couldn’t stand the guilt another minute. I had to get out of there. I jumped up from the table and threw open the front door. A group of soldiers was standing on our porch. One, the sergeant, held out a pair of handcuffs.
“We need a blacksmith to fix these for us,” he said. “Two convicts have escaped the Hulks. We’re going to find them.”
The Hulks were the prison ships moored near the marsh. So there were
two
convicts—not just the one I had helped!
Joe fired up the forge and fixed thehandcuffs. He wanted to join the hunt. So did Mr. Wopsle and Uncle Pumblechook.
We started off across the marshes, climbing up banks and down ditches. I sat high atop Joe’s shoulders. I looked through the thick fog, hoping to spot my convict first.
I knew he would think I had given him away. He would find me and roast me for sure!
Suddenly we heard shouting. The sergeant ran on ahead. Joe put me down, and we followed him.
My convict was fighting a man who had a long scar across his face. I stood at the edge of the ditch. I wanted my convict to see me.
The soldiers broke up the fight and handcuffed the two men. As they were led away, my convict looked at me. I shook my head slightly. I was trying to tell him that I had kept my promise.
There was no anger, only interest, inhis eyes. I did not understand the look. Then he turned to the sergeant.
“I stole a pork pie and some brandy from the blacksmiths,” he said.
“We
were
missing a pie,” said Joe. “Remember, Pip?” Then he said to my convict, “Whatever you’ve done, we wouldn’t want you to starve. Would we, Pip?”
I did not reply. By the light of the torches, I saw the black Hulks lying near the muddy shore.
The prisoners were rowed to the ship and taken up. The torches were tossed, hissing, into the water.
I went home with the memory of that night burned into my brain forever.
Chapter Two
Estella
Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt ran an elementary school in the village. The classes were held at night. Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt was old and always fell asleep in front of the class. Her students paid two pennies a week to watch her sleep. But sometimes Biddy, her granddaughter, took over.
Biddy was an orphan. Her hair often needed brushing and her hands needed washing, but she had a good heart. If it weren’t for Biddy, I never would have learned to read or write.
One winter evening, a year after the hunt for the convict, I sat by the fire writing on a slate. My sister was out with Mr. Pumblechook.
I wrote to Joe even though he was sitting beside me:
“mI deEr JO i opE U R kWite wEll. i opE i shAl soN B aBelL 2 teeDge U 2 ritE JO.”
“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide. “What a scholar you are! Ain’t you?”
“I would like to be,” I said, smiling at the letters on the slate.
When I got older, Joe was going to teach me his trade. I loved Joe dearly, but the thought of working in the forge made my heart heavy. I wanted
The convict was happy to see me. I gave him the items he wanted and raced back home. I fell into a fitful sleep, huddled under my blanket. The shrill sound of a file scraping leg irons cut through my dreams.
The next day was Christmas. Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at the church, was dining with us. Joe’s Uncle Pumblechook was also there.
I sat at the table and worried. Soon my sister would find out that the brandy and the pork pie were gone. Then I would really be in trouble!
Dinner went on and on. I began to think I might survive the night. Then my sister said, “I almost forgot! Uncle Pumblechook gave us a pork pie.”
She went to the pantry to get the pie, but she returned with an empty plate.
“Gracious me,” she said. “It’s gone. The pie is gone.”
I couldn’t stand the guilt another minute. I had to get out of there. I jumped up from the table and threw open the front door. A group of soldiers was standing on our porch. One, the sergeant, held out a pair of handcuffs.
“We need a blacksmith to fix these for us,” he said. “Two convicts have escaped the Hulks. We’re going to find them.”
The Hulks were the prison ships moored near the marsh. So there were
two
convicts—not just the one I had helped!
Joe fired up the forge and fixed thehandcuffs. He wanted to join the hunt. So did Mr. Wopsle and Uncle Pumblechook.
We started off across the marshes, climbing up banks and down ditches. I sat high atop Joe’s shoulders. I looked through the thick fog, hoping to spot my convict first.
I knew he would think I had given him away. He would find me and roast me for sure!
Suddenly we heard shouting. The sergeant ran on ahead. Joe put me down, and we followed him.
My convict was fighting a man who had a long scar across his face. I stood at the edge of the ditch. I wanted my convict to see me.
The soldiers broke up the fight and handcuffed the two men. As they were led away, my convict looked at me. I shook my head slightly. I was trying to tell him that I had kept my promise.
There was no anger, only interest, inhis eyes. I did not understand the look. Then he turned to the sergeant.
“I stole a pork pie and some brandy from the blacksmiths,” he said.
“We
were
missing a pie,” said Joe. “Remember, Pip?” Then he said to my convict, “Whatever you’ve done, we wouldn’t want you to starve. Would we, Pip?”
I did not reply. By the light of the torches, I saw the black Hulks lying near the muddy shore.
The prisoners were rowed to the ship and taken up. The torches were tossed, hissing, into the water.
I went home with the memory of that night burned into my brain forever.
Chapter Two
Estella
Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt ran an elementary school in the village. The classes were held at night. Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt was old and always fell asleep in front of the class. Her students paid two pennies a week to watch her sleep. But sometimes Biddy, her granddaughter, took over.
Biddy was an orphan. Her hair often needed brushing and her hands needed washing, but she had a good heart. If it weren’t for Biddy, I never would have learned to read or write.
One winter evening, a year after the hunt for the convict, I sat by the fire writing on a slate. My sister was out with Mr. Pumblechook.
I wrote to Joe even though he was sitting beside me:
“mI deEr JO i opE U R kWite wEll. i opE i shAl soN B aBelL 2 teeDge U 2 ritE JO.”
“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide. “What a scholar you are! Ain’t you?”
“I would like to be,” I said, smiling at the letters on the slate.
When I got older, Joe was going to teach me his trade. I loved Joe dearly, but the thought of working in the forge made my heart heavy. I wanted
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