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“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s out now.”

“Is she? Has she been gone long, Joe?”

“Well,” said Joe, “about five minutes, Pip. She’s a coming! Get behind the door, old chap.”

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, came in.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her foot.

“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and rubbing myself.

“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two. You’ll drive me to the churchyard, one of these days!”

She applied herself to set the tea-things. But, 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 man.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight. I decided to steal some food afterwards and bring it to my new “friend”. Suddenly I heard shots.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring; “was that great guns, Joe?”

“Ah!” said Joe. “A convict ran away.”

“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped.”

I asked Joe, “What’s a convict?”

“There was a convict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after sunset. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies,” said my sister.

It was not very polite to herself, I thought. But she never was polite unless there was company.

“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “Please tell me, where the firing comes from?”

“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”

“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“Hulks are prison-ships!” exclaimed my sister.

It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, young fellow,” said she, “People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad things.”

I was in mortal terror of the man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in mortal terror of the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted.

In the early morning I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” I stole some bread, some cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat, some brandy from a bottle, a meat bone and a beautiful round compact pork pie.

There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.