best of friends; an't us, Pip? Don't cry, old
chap!"

When this little interruption was over, Joe
resumed:

"Well, you see, Pip, and here we are!
That's about where it lights; here we are!
Now, when you take me in hand in my learning,
Pip (and I tell you beforehand I am awful dull,
most awful dull), Mrs. Joe mustn't see too
much of what we're up to. It must be done, as
I may say, on the sly. And why on the sly? I'll
tell you why, Pip."

He had taken up the poker again; without
which, I doubt if he could have proceeded in his
demonstration.

"Your sister is given to government."

"Given to government, Joe?" I was startled,
for I had some shadowy idea (and I am afraid I
must add, hope) that Joe had divorced her in
favour of the Lords of the Admiralty, or Treasury.

"Given to government," said Joe. " Which
I meantersay the government of you and myself."

"Oh!"

"And she an't over partial to having scholars
on the premises," Joe continued, "and in
partikler would not be over partial to my being a
scholar, for fear as I might rise. Like a sort of
rebel, don't you see?"

I was going to retort with an inquiry, and had
got as far as "Why——" when Joe stopped me.

"Stay a bit. I know what you're a going to
say, Pip; stay a bit! I don't deny that your
sister comes the Mo-gul over us, now and again.
I don't deny that she do throw us back-falls, and
that she do drop down upon us heavy. At such
times as when your sister is on the Ram-page,
Pip," Joe sank his voice to a whisper and glanced
at the door, "candour compels fur to admit that
she is a Buster."

Joe pronounced this word, as if it began with
at least twelve capital Bs.

"Why don't I rise? That were your
observation when I broke it off, Pip?"

"Yes, Joe."

"Well," said Joe, passing the poker into his
left hand, that he might feel his whisker; and I
had no hope of him whenever he took to that
placid occupation; "your sister's a master-mind.
A master-mind."

"What's that?" I asked, in some hope
of bringing him to a stand. But, Joe was
readier with his definition than I had expected,
and completely stopped me by arguing
circularly, and answering with a fixed look, " Her."

"And I an't a master-mind," Joe resumed,
when he had unfixed his look, and got back to
his whisker. "And last of all, Pip—and this
I want to say very serous to you, old chap—I
see so much in my poor mother, of a woman
drudging and slaving and breaking her honest
hart and never getting no peace in her mortal
days, that I'm dead afeerd of going wrong in
the way of not doing what's right by a woman,
and I'd fur rather of the two go wrong the
t'other way, and be a little ill-conwenienced
myself. I wish it was only me that got put out,
Pip; I wish there warn't no Tickler for you, old
chap; I wish I could take it all on myself; but
this is the up-and-down-and-straight on it, Pip,
and I hope you'll overlook short-comings."

Young as I was, I believe that I dated a new
admiration of Joe from that night. We were
equals afterwards, as we had been before; but,
afterwards at quiet times when I sat looking at
Joe and thinking about him, I had a new
sensation of feeling conscious that I was looking
up to Joe in my heart.

"However," said Joe, rising to replenish the
fire; "here's the Dutch-clock a working
himself up to being equal to striking Eight of 'em,
and she's not come home yet! I hope Uncle
Pumblechook's mare mayn't have set a fore-foot on a
piece o' ice, and gone down."

Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle
Pumblechook on market days, to assist him in
buying such household stuffs and goods as
required a woman's judgment; Uncle Pumblechook
being a bachelor and reposing no confidences
in his domestic servant. This was marketday,
and Mrs. Joe was out on one of these expeditions.

Joe made the fire and swept the hearth, and
then we went to the door to listen for the chaise-
cart. It was a dry cold night, and the wind
blew keenly, and the frost was white and hard.
A man would die to-night of lying out on the
marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the
stars, and considered how awful it would be
for a man to turn his face up to them as he
froze to death, and see no help or pity in all
the glittering multitude.

"Here comes the mare," said Joe, "ringing
like a peal of bells!"

The sound of her iron shoes upon the hard road
was quite musical, as she came along at a much
brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out
ready for Mrs. Joe's alighting, and stirred up
the fire that they might see a bright window,
and took a final survey of the kitchen that
nothing might be out of its place. When we
had completed these preparations, they drove
up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs. Joe was soon
landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down
too, covering the mare with a cloth, and we were
soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold
air in with us that it seemed to drive all the
heat out of the fire.

"Now," said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself
with haste and excitement, and throwing her
bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by
the strings: "if this boy an't grateful this night,
he never will be!"

I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could,
who was wholly uninformed why he ought to
assume that expression.

"It's only to be hoped," said my sister,
"that he won't be Pompeyed. But I have my
fears."

"She an't in that line, mum," said Mr.
Pumblechook. " She knows better."

She? I looked at Joe, making the motion
with my lips and eyebrows, "She?" Joe