Early in the morning while my breakfast was getting ready, Istrolled round by Satis House. There were printed bills on thegate, and on bits of carpet hanging out of the windows, announcinga sale by auction of the Household Furniture and Effects, nextweek. The House itself was to be sold as old building materials andpulled down. LOT 1 was marked in whitewashed knock-knee letters onthe brew house; LOT 2 on that part of the main building which hadbeen so long shut up. Other lots were marked off on other parts ofthe structure, and the ivy had been torn down to make room for theinscriptions, and much of it trailed low in the dust and waswithered already. Stepping in for a moment at the open gate andlooking around me with the uncomfortable air of a stranger who hadno business there, I saw the auctioneer's clerk walking on thecasks and telling them off for the information of a cataloguecompiler, pen in hand, who made a temporary desk of the wheeledchair I had so often pushed along to the tune of Old Clem.

When I got back to my breakfast in the Boar's coffee-room, I foundMr. Pumblechook conversing with the landlord. Mr. Pumblechook (notimproved in appearance by his late nocturnal adventure) was waitingfor me, and addressed me in the following terms.

"Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low. But what else couldbe expected! What else could be expected!"

As he extended his hand with a magnificently forgiving air, and asI was broken by illness and unfit to quarrel, I took it.

"William," said Mr. Pumblechook to the waiter, "put a muffin ontable. And has it come to this! Has it come to this!"

I frowningly sat down to my breakfast. Mr. Pumblechook stood over meand poured out my tea - before I could touch the teapot - with theair of a benefactor who was resolved to be true to the last.

"William," said Mr. Pumblechook, mournfully, "put the salt on. Inhappier times," addressing me, "I think you took sugar. And did youtake milk? You did. Sugar and milk. William, bring a watercress."

"Thank you," said I, shortly, "but I don't eat watercresses."

"You don't eat 'em," returned Mr. Pumblechook, sighing and noddinghis head several times, as if he might have expected that, and asif abstinence from watercresses were consistent with my downfall."True. The simple fruits of the earth. No. You needn't bring any,William."

I went on with my breakfast, and Mr. Pumblechook continued to standover me, staring fishily and breathing noisily, as he always did.

"Little more than skin and bone!" mused Mr. Pumblechook, aloud. "Andyet when he went from here (I may say with my blessing), and Ispread afore him my humble store, like the Bee, he was as plump asa Peach!"

This reminded me of the wonderful difference between the servilemanner in which he had offered his hand in my new prosperity,saying, "May I?" and the ostentatious clemency with which he hadjust now exhibited the same fat five fingers.

"Hah!" he went on, handing me the bread-and-butter. "And air youa-going to Joseph?"

"In heaven's name," said I, firing in spite of myself, "what doesit matter to you where I am going? Leave that teapot alone."

It was the worst course I could have taken, because it gavePumblechook the opportunity he wanted.

"Yes, young man," said he, releasing the handle of the article inquestion, retiring a step or two from my table, and speaking forthe behoof of the landlord and waiter at the door, "I will leavethat teapot alone. You are right, young man. For once, you areright. I forgit myself when I take such an interest in yourbreakfast, as to wish your frame, exhausted by the debilitatingeffects of prodigygality, to be stimilated by the 'olesomenourishment of your forefathers. And yet," said Pumblechook,turning to the landlord and waiter, and pointing me out at arm'slength, "this is him as I ever sported with in his days of happyinfancy! Tell me not it cannot be; I tell you this is him!"

A low murmur from the two replied. The waiter appeared to beparticularly affected.

"This is him," said Pumblechook, "as I have rode in my shaycart.This is him as I have seen brought up by hand. This is him untoethe sister of which I was uncle by marriage, as her name wasGeorgiana M'ria from her own mother, let him deny it if he can!"

The waiter seemed convinced that I could not deny it, and that itgave the case a black look.

"Young man," said Pumblechook, screwing his head at me in the oldfashion, "you air a-going to Joseph. What does it matter to me, youask me, where you air a-going? I say to you, Sir, you air a-goingto Joseph."

The waiter coughed, as if he modestly invited me to get over that.

"Now," said Pumblechook, and all this with a most exasperating airof saying in the cause of virtue what was perfectly convincing andconclusive, "I will tell you what to say to Joseph. Here is Squiresof the Boar present, known and respected in this town, and here isWilliam, which his father's name was Potkins if I do not deceivemyself."

"You do not, sir," said William.

"In their presence," pursued Pumblechook, "I will tell you, youngman, what to say to Joseph. Says you, "Joseph, I have this day seenmy earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortun's. I will nameno names, Joseph, but so they are pleased to call him up-town, andI have seen that man."

"I swear I don't see him here," said I.

"Say that likewise," retorted Pumblechook. "Say you said that, andeven Joseph will probably betray surprise."

"There you quite mistake him," said I. "I know better."

"Says you," Pumblechook went on, "'Joseph, I have seen that man, andthat man bears you no malice and bears me no malice. He knows yourcharacter, Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pig-headednessand ignorance; and he knows my character, Joseph, and he knows mywant of gratitoode. Yes, Joseph,' says you," here Pumblechook shookhis head and hand at me, "'he knows my total deficiency of commonhuman gratitoode. He knows it, Joseph, as none can. You do not knowit, Joseph, having no call to know it, but that man do.'"

Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have theface to talk thus to mine.

"Says you, 'Joseph, he gave me a little message, which I will nowrepeat. It was, that in my being brought low, he saw the finger ofProvidence. He knowed that finger when he saw it, Joseph, and hesaw it plain. It pinted out this writing, Joseph. Reward ofingratitoode to his earliest benefactor, and founder of fortun's.But that man said he did not repent of what he had done, Joseph.Not at all. It was right to do it, it was kind to do it, it wasbenevolent to do it, and he would do it again.'"

"It's pity," said I, scornfully, as I finished my interruptedbreakfast, "that the man did not say what he had done and would doagain."

"Squires of the Boar!" Pumblechook was now addressing the landlord,"and William! I have no objections to your mentioning, eitherup-town or down-town, if such should be your wishes, that it wasright to do it, kind to do it, benevolent to do it, and that Iwould do it again."

With those words the Impostor shook them both by the hand, with anair, and left the house; leaving me much more astonished thandelighted by the virtues of that same indefinite "it." "I was notlong after him in leaving the house too, and when I went down theHigh-street I saw him holding forth (no doubt to the same effect)at his shop door to a select group, who honoured me with veryunfavourable glances as I passed on the opposite side of the way.

But, it was only the pleasanter to turn to Biddy and to Joe, whosegreat forbearance shone more brightly than before, if that couldbe, contrasted with this brazen pretender. I went towards themslowly, for my limbs were weak, but with a sense of increasingrelief as I drew nearer to them, and a sense of leaving arroganceand untruthfulness further and further behind.

The June weather was delicious. The sky was blue, the larks weresoaring high over the green corn, I thought all that country-sidemore beautiful and peaceful by far than I had ever known it to beyet. Many pleasant pictures of the life that I would lead there,and of the change for the better that would come over my characterwhen I had a guiding spirit at my side whose simple faith and clearhome-wisdom I had proved, beguiled my way. They awakened a tenderemotion in me; for, my heart was softened by my return, and such achange had come to pass, that I felt like one who was toiling homebarefoot from distant travel, and whose wanderings had lasted manyyears.

The schoolhouse where Biddy was mistress, I had never seen; but,the little roundabout lane by which I entered the village forquietness' sake, took me past it. I was disappointed to find thatthe day was a holiday; no children were there, and Biddy's housewas closed. Some hopeful notion of seeing her busily engaged in herdaily duties, before she saw me, had been in my mind and wasdefeated.

But, the forge was a very short distance off, and I went towards itunder the sweet green limes, listening for the clink of Joe'shammer. Long after I ought to have heard it, and long after I hadfancied I heard it and found it but a fancy, all was still. Thelimes were there, and the white thorns were there, and thechestnut-trees were there, and their leaves rustled harmoniouslywhen I stopped to listen; but, the clink of Joe's hammer was not inthe midsummer wind.

Almost fearing, without knowing why, to come in view of the forge,I saw it at last, and saw that it was closed. No gleam of fire, noglittering shower of sparks, no roar of bellows; all shut up, andstill.

But, the house was not deserted, and the best parlour seemed to bein use, for there were white curtains fluttering in its window, andthe window was open and gay with flowers. I went softly towards it,meaning to peep over the flowers, when Joe and Biddy stood beforeme, arm in arm.

At first Biddy gave a cry, as if she thought it was my apparition,but in another moment she was in my embrace. I wept to see her, andshe wept to see me; I, because she looked so fresh and pleasant;she, because I looked so worn and white.

"But dear Biddy, how smart you are!"

"Yes, dear Pip."

"And Joe, how smart you are!"

"Yes, dear old Pip, old chap."

I looked at both of them, from one to the other, and then--

"It's my wedding-day," cried Biddy, in a burst of happiness, "and Iam married to Joe!"

They had taken me into the kitchen, and I had laid my head down onthe old deal table. Biddy held one of my hands to her lips, andJoe's restoring touch was on my shoulder. "Which he warn't strongenough, my dear, fur to be surprised," said Joe. And Biddy said, "Iought to have thought of it, dear Joe, but I was too happy." Theywere both so overjoyed to see me, so proud to see me, so touched bymy coming to them, so delighted that I should have come by accidentto make their day complete!

My first thought was one of great thankfulness that I had neverbreathed this last baffled hope to Joe. How often, while he waswith me in my illness, had it risen to my lips. How irrevocablewould have been his knowledge of it, if he had remained with me butanother hour!

"Dear Biddy," said I, "you have the best husband in the wholeworld, and if you could have seen him by my bed you would have -But no, you couldn't love him better than you do."

"No, I couldn't indeed," said Biddy.

"And, dear Joe, you have the best wife in the whole world, and shewill make you as happy as even you deserve to be, you dear, good,noble Joe!"

Joe looked at me with a quivering lip, and fairly put his sleevebefore his eyes.

"And Joe and Biddy both, as you have been to church to-day, and arein charity and love with all mankind, receive my humble thanks forall you have done for me and all I have so ill repaid! And when Isay that I am going away within the hour, for I am soon goingabroad, and that I shall never rest until I have worked for themoney with which you have kept me out of prison, and have sent itto you, don't think, dear Joe and Biddy, that if I could repay it athousand times over, I suppose I could cancel a farthing of thedebt I owe you, or that I would do so if I could!"

They were both melted by these words, and both entreated me to sayno more.

"But I must say more. Dear Joe, I hope you will have children tolove, and that some little fellow will sit in this chimney cornerof a winter night, who may remind you of another little fellow goneout of it for ever. Don't tell him, Joe, that I was thankless;don't tell him, Biddy, that I was ungenerous and unjust; only tellhim that I honoured you both, because you were both so good andtrue, and that, as your child, I said it would be natural to him togrow up a much better man than I did."

"I ain't a-going," said Joe, from behind his sleeve, "to tell himnothink o' that natur, Pip. Nor Biddy ain't. Nor yet no one ain't."

"And now, though I know you have already done it in your own kindhearts, pray tell me, both, that you forgive me! Pray let me hearyou say the words, that I may carry the sound of them away with me,and then I shall be able to believe that you can trust me, andthink better of me, in the time to come!"

"O dear old Pip, old chap," said Joe. "God knows as I forgive you,if I have anythink to forgive!"

"Amen! And God knows I do!" echoed Biddy.

Now let me go up and look at my old little room, and rest there a fewminutes by myself, and then when I have eaten and drunk with you,go with me as far as the finger-post, dear Joe and Biddy, before wesay good-bye!"

I sold all I had, and put aside as much as I could, for acomposition with my creditors - who gave me ample time to pay themin full - and I went out and joined Herbert. Within a month, I hadquitted England, and within two months I was clerk to Clarriker andCo., and within four months I assumed my first undividedresponsibility. For, the beam across the parlour ceiling at MillPond Bank, had then ceased to tremble under old Bill Barley'sgrowls and was at peace, and Herbert had gone away to marry Clara,and I was left in sole charge of the Eastern Branch until hebrought her back.

Title: Great Expectations
Author: Charles Dickens
Viewed 221122 times

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