"And now," said Joe,

"you ain't that strong yet, old chap, that you can take in more nor

one additional shovel-full to-day. Old Orlick he's been a

bustin'open a dwelling-ouse."

"Whose?" said I.

"Not, I grant, you, but what his manners is given to blusterous,"

said Joe, apologetically; "still, a Englishman's ouse is his

Castle, and castles must not be busted 'cept when done in war time.

And wotsume'er the failings on his part, he were a corn and

seedsman in his hart."

"Is it Pumblechook's house that has been broken into, then?"

"That's it, Pip," said Joe; "and they took his till, and they took

his cash-box, and they drinked his wine, and they partook of his

wittles, and they slapped his face, and they pulled his nose, and

they tied him up to his bedpust, and they giv' him a dozen, and

they stuffed his mouth full of flowering annuals to prewent his

crying out. But he knowed Orlick, and Orlick's in the county

jail."

By these approaches we arrived at unrestricted conversation. I was

slow to gain strength, but I did slowly and surely become less

weak, and Joe stayed with me, and I fancied I was little Pip again.

For, the tenderness of Joe was so beautifully proportioned to my

need, that I was like a child in his hands. He would sit and talk

to me in the old confidence, and with the old simplicity, and in

the old unassertive protecting way, so that I would half believe

that all my life since the days of the old kitchen was one of the

mental troubles of the fever that was gone. He did everything for

me except the household work, for which he had engaged a very

decent woman, after paying off the laundress on his first arrival.

"Which I do assure you, Pip," he would often say, in explanation of

that liberty; "I found her a tapping the spare bed, like a cask of

beer, and drawing off the feathers in a bucket, for sale. Which she

would have tapped yourn next, and draw'd it off with you a laying

on it, and was then a carrying away the coals gradiwally in the

souptureen and wegetable-dishes, and the wine and spirits in your

Wellington boots."

We looked forward to the day when I should go out for a ride, as we

had once looked forward to the day of my apprenticeship. And when

the day came, and an open carriage was got into the Lane, Joe

wrapped me up, took me in his arms, carried me down to it, and put

me in, as if I were still the small helpless creature to whom he

had so abundantly given of the wealth of his great nature.

And Joe got in beside me, and we drove away together into the

country, where the rich summer growth was already on the trees and

on the grass, and sweet summer scents filled all the air. The day

happened to be Sunday, and when I looked on the loveliness around

me, and thought how it had grown and changed, and how the little

wild flowers had been forming, and the voices of the birds had been

strengthening, by day and by night, under the sun and under the

stars, while poor I lay burning and tossing on my bed, the mere

remembrance of having burned and tossed there, came like a check

upon my peace. But, when I heard the Sunday bells, and looked

around a little more upon the outspread beauty, I felt that I was

not nearly thankful enough - that I was too weak yet, to be even

that - and I laid my head on Joe's shoulder, as I had laid it long

ago when he had taken me to the Fair or where not, and it was too

much for my young senses.

More composure came to me after a while, and we talked as we used

to talk, lying on the grass at the old Battery. There was no change

whatever in Joe. Exactly what he had been in my eyes then, he was

in my eyes still; just as simply faithful, and as simply right.

When we got back again and he lifted me out, and carried me - so

easily - across the court and up the stairs, I thought of that

eventful Christmas Day when he had carried me over the marshes. We

had not yet made any allusion to my change of fortune, nor did I

know how much of my late history he was acquainted with.