Great Expectations by Charles Dickens - Chapter 58

down to my native place and its neighborhood. Before I got there, I found a blue boar in possession of the intelligence, and I found that it made a great change in the boer's demeanor. Whereas the boar had cultivated my good opinion with warm assiduity when I was coming into property, the boar was exceedingly cool on the subject. Now that I was going out of property. It was evening when I arrived, much fatigued by the journey I

had so often made so easily. The boar could not put me into my usual bedroom, which was engaged, probably by some one who had expectations, and could only assign me a very indifferent chamber among the pigeons and post chaises up the yard. But I had as sound asleep in that lodging as in the most superior accommodation the boar could have given me, and the quality of my dreams was about the same as in the best bedroom. Early in the morning, while my breakfast was getting ready,

I strolled round by Satus house. There were printed bills on the gate and on bits of carpet hanging out of the windows, announcing a sail by auction of the household furniture and effects next week. The house itself was to be sold as old building materials and pulled down. Lot one was marked in whitewashed knock knee letters on the brew house, Lot two on that part of the

main building which had been so long shut up. Other lots were marked off on other parts of the structure, and the ivy had been torn down to make room for the inscriptions, and much of a trailed low in the dust and was withered. Already stepping in for a moment at the open gate and looking around me with the uncomfortable air of a stranger who had no business there.

I saw the auctioneer's clerk walking on the casks and telling them off for the information of a catalog compiler pen in hand, who made a temporary desk of the wheeled chair I had so often pushed along to the tune of Old Clem. When I got back to my breakfast in the Boer's coffee room, I found mister Pumblechook

conversing with the landlord. Mister Pumblechook, not improved in appearance by his late nocturnal adventure, was waiting for me and addressed me in the following terms, young man, I am sorry to see you brought low, but what helse could be expected? What else could be expected? As he extended his hand with a magnificently forgiving air, and as I was broken by illness and unfit to quarrel, I took it. William said mister Pumblechook to the waiter, put a muffin

on table, and has it come to this? Has it come to this? I frowningly sat down to my breakfast. Mister Pumblechuk stood over me and poured out my tea before I could touch the teapot, with the air of a benefactor who was resolved to be true to the last, William said, mister Pumblechuk mournfully put the salt on in happier times, addressing me, I think you took sugar, and did you take 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 mister Pumblechuk, sighing and nodding his head several times, as if he might have expected that, and as if abstinence from watercresses were consistent with my downfall, true the simple fruits of the earth. No, you needn't bring any willyum. I went on with my breakfast, and mister Pumblechuk continued to stand over me, staring fishily and breathing noisily, as he always did. Little more than skin and bone, mused mister pumblechook aloud.

And yet when he went from here, I may say with my blessing, and I spread afore him my humble store like the bee, he was as plump as a peach. This reminded me of the wonderful difference between the servile manner in which he had offered his hand in my new prosperity, saying may I, and the ostentatious clemency with which he had just now exhibited the same fat five fingers ha He went on handing me bread and butter. And are you going to Joseph in Heaven's name, said I, firing,

in spite of myself. What does it matter to you where I'm going? Leave that teapot alone. It was the worst course I could have taken, because it gave Pumblchuk the opportunity he wanted. Yes, young man, said he, releasing the handle of the article in question, and retiring a step or two from my table, and speaking for the behoof of the landlord and waiter at the door, I will leave that teapot alone. You are right, young man.

For once you are right, I forget myself when I take such an interest in your breakfast as to wish your frame, exhausted by the debilitating effects of prodigality, to be stimulated by the wholesome nourishment of your forefathers. And yet, said Pumblechuk, turning to the landlord and waiter and pointing me out at arm's length, this is him, as I ever sported with in his days of happy infancy. Tell me not, it cannot be. I tell you this is him. A low murmur from the two replied the waiter, appear

to be particularly affected. This is him, said Pumblechuk, as I have rode in my shay cart. This is him, as I have seen brought up by hand. This is him unto the sister of which I was uncle by marriage, as her name was Georgiana Miria from her own mother. Let him deny it if he can. The waiter seemed convinced that I could not deny it, and that it gave the case a black look. Young man, said Pumblechuk, screwing his head at me in the old fashion. You are a going to Joseph. What does it matter to me?

You ask me where you are a going. I say to you, sir, you are a going to Joseph. The waiter coughed, as if he modestly invited me to get over that. Now, said Pumblechuk, and all this with a most exasperating air of saying, in the cause of virtue, what was perfectly convincing and conclusive. I will tell you what to say to Joseph. Here is Squire's of the Boer present, known and respected in this town. And here

is William, which his father's name was Potkins. If I do not deceive myself, you do not, sir, said William in their presence pursued Pomblchuk. I will tell you, young man, what to say to Joseph. Says you, Joseph, I have this day seen my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortune. I will name no names, Joseph, but so they are pleased to call him up town. And I have seen that man. I swear I don't see him here,

said I say that. Likewise, retorted Pomblchuk, say you said that, and even Joseph will probably betray surprise there you quite mistake him. Said I I know better, says you. Pomblchuk went on, Joseph, I have seen that man, and that man bears you no malice, and bears me no malice. He knows your character, Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pigheadedness and ignorance. And he knows my character, Joseph, and he knows my want of gratitude. Yes, Joseph, says you.

Here Pomelchuk shook his head and hand at me. He knows my total deficiency of common human gratitude. He knows it, Joseph, as none can you do not know it, Joseph, having no call to know it, But that man do When did Donkey as he was. It really amazed me that he could have the face to talk thus to mine, says you, Joseph. He gave me a little message, which I will now repeat. It was that in my being

brought low, he saw the finger of providence. He knowed that finger when he saw Joseph, and he saw it plain. He pointed out this writing Joseph reward of ingratitude to his earliest benefactor and founder of fortune. 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 was benevolent to do it,

and he would do it again. It's a pity, said I scornfully, as I finished my interrupted breakfast, that the man did not say what he had done and would do again.

I was not long after him in leaving the house, too, and when I went down the high street, I saw him holding forth, no doubt to the same effect, at his shop door, to a select group, who honored me with very unfavorable glances as I passed on the opposite side of the way. But it was only the pleasanter to turn to Biddy and to Joe, whose great forbearance shone more brightly than before, if that could be contrasted

with this brazen pretender. I went towards them, slowly, for my limbs were weak, but with a sense of increasing relief as I drew nearer to them, and a sense of leaving arrogance and untruthfulness further and further behind. The June weather was delicious, the sky was blue, the larks were soaring high over the green corn. I thought all that countryside more beautiful and peaceful by far than I

had ever known it to be. Yet many pleasant pictures of the life that I would lead there, and the change for the better that would come over my character. When I had a guiding spirit at my side, whose simple faith and clear home wisdom I had proved beguiled my way. They awakened a tender emotion in me, for my heart was softened by my return, and such a change had come to pass that I felt like one who was toiling home, barefoot from distant travel, and whose

wanderings had lasted many year. The schoolhouse where Biddy was mistress I had never seen, but the little roundabout lane by which I entered the village for quietness's sake, took me past it. I was disappointed to find that the day was a holiday, no children were there, and Biddy's house was closed. Some hopeful notion of seeing her busily engaged in her daily duties before she saw me had

been in my mind, and was defeated. But the forge was a very short distance off, and I went towards it under the sweet green limes, listening for the clink of Joe's hammer, long after I ought to have heard it, and long after I had fancied i'd heard it and found it, But a fancy all was still. The limes were there, and the white thorns were there, and the chestnut trees were there, and their leaves rustled harmoniously when I stopped to listen, but the clink of jo rose

hammer was not in the 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, no glittering shower of sparks, no roar of bellows, all shut up and still. But the house was not deserted, and the best parlor seemed to be in use, for there were white curtains fluttering in its window, and the window was open and gay with flowers.

I went softly towards it, meaning to peep over the flowers, when Joe and Biddy stood before me, 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, and she wept to see me. Ay 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.

I was too happy. They were both so overjoyed to see me, so proud to see me, so touched by my coming to them, so delighted that I should have come by accident to make their day complete. My first thought was one of great thankfulness that I have never breathed this last baffled hope to Joe, how often while he was with me in my illness had it risen

to my lips. How irrevocable would have been his knowledge of it if he had remained with me but another hour, dear Biddy said I you have the best husband in the whole world, 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 she will 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 sleeve before his eyes. And Joe and Biddy, both, as you have been to church to day and are in charity and love with all mankind, receive my humble thanks for all you have done for me,

and all I have so ill repaid. And when I say that I am going away within the hour, for I am soon going abroad, and that I shall never rest until I have worked for the money with which you have kept me out of prison and have sent it to you, don't think, dear Joe and Biddy, that if I could repay it a thousand times over, I suppose I could cancel a farthing of the debt I owe you, or that I would do so if I could. They were both melted by these words, and both entreated

me to say no more. But I must say more, Dear Joe, I hope you will have children to love, and that some little fellow will sit in this chimney corner of a winter night, who may remind you of another little fellow gone out of it forever. Don't tell him, Joe, that I was thankless. Don't tell him, Biddy, that I

was ungenerous and unjust. Only tell him that I honored you both because you were both so good and true, and that as your child, I said, it would be natural to him to grow up a much better man than I did. I ain't a going, said Joe, from behind his sleeve, to tell him nothing of that nature. Pip nor Bitty ain't nor yet, no one ain't. And now though I know you have already done it in your own kind hearts, pray tell me both that you

forgive me. Pray let me hear you say the words, that I may carry the sound of them away with me, and that I shall be able to believe that you can trust me and think better of me in the time to come.

before we say good bye. I sold all I had and put aside as much as I could for a composition with my creditors, who gave me ample time to pay them in full, and I went out and joined Herbert. Within a month I had quitted England, and within two months I was clerk to Clerriker and Company, and within four months I assumed my first undivided responsibility for the

beam across the parlor ceiling at Mill Pond. Bank had then ceased to tremble under old Bill Barr Growls and was at peace, and Herbert had gone away to marry Clara, and I was left in sole charge of the eastern branch until he brought her back. Many a year went round before I was a partner in the house. But I lived happily with Herbert and his wife, and lived frugally and paid my debts and maintained a constant correspondence.

We were not in a grand way of business, but we had a good name, and worked for our profits and did very well. We owed so much to Herbert's ever cheerful industry and readiness, that I often wondered how I had conceived that old idea of his inaptitude, until I was one day enlightened by the reflection that perhaps the inaptitude had never been in him at all, but had been in me. End of Chapter