and trimming and moulding the butter off round
the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart
wipe on the edge of the plaister, and then
sawed a very thick round off the loaf : which she
finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed
into two halves : of which Joe got one, and I
the other.

On the present occasion, though I was
hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I felt that I
must have something in reserve for my dreadful
acquaintance, and his ally the still more
dreadful young man. I knew Mrs. Joe's
housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my
larcenous researches might find nothing available
in the safe. Therefore I resolved to put my
hunk of bread-and-butter down the leg of my
trousers.

The effort of resolution necessary to the
achievement of this purpose, I found to be quite
awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind
to leap from the top of a high house, or plunge
into a great depth of water. And it was made
the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In
our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-
sufferers, and in his good-natured companionship
with me, it was our evening habit to
compare the way we bit through our slices, by silently
holding them up to each other's admiration now
and then — which stimulated us to new
exertions. To-night, Joe several times invited me,
by the display of his fast-diminishing slice, to
enter upon our usual friendly competition; but
he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of
tea on one knee, and my untouched bread-and-
butter on the other. At last, I desperately
considered that the thing I contemplated must be
done, and that it had best be done in the least
improbable manner consistent with the
circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when
Joe had just looked at me, and got my bread-
and-butter down my leg.

Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by
what he supposed to be my loss of appetite,
and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice
which he didn't seem to enjoy. He turned
it about in his mouth much longer than usual,
pondering over it a good deal, and after all
gulped it down like a pill. He was about to
take another bite, and had just got his head on
one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye
fell on me, and he saw that my bread-and-butter
was gone.

The wonder and consternation with which Joe
stopped on the threshold of his bite and stared
at me, were too evident to escape my sister's
observation.

"What's the matter now?" said she, smartly,
as she put down her cup.

"I say, you know!" muttered Joe, shaking
his head at me in very serious remonstrance.
" Pip, old chap! You'll do yourself a mischief.
It'll stick somewhere. You can't have chawed
it, Pip."

""What's the matter now?" repeated my
sister, more sharply than before.

"If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip,
I'd recommend you to do it," said Joe, all
aghast. " Manners is manners, but still your
elth's your elth."

By this time, my sister was quite desperate,
so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the
two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while
against the wall behind him: while I sat in the
corner, looking guiltily on.

"Now, perhaps you'll mention what's the
matter," said my sister, out of breath, " you
staring great stuck pig."

Joe looked at her in a helpless way; then
took a helpless bite, and looked at me again.

"You know, Pip," said Joe, solemnly, with
his last bite in his cheek, and speaking in a
confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone,
"you and me is always friends, and I'd be the
last to tell upon you, any time. But such a"—he
moved his chair and looked about the floor
between us, and then again at 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 boot-jack. 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,