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The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog.

      “I am afraid you won’t leave any food for him,” said I, timidly.

      “Leave for him? Who’s him?” said my friend.

      “The man. That you spoke of[11].”

      “Oh ah!” he said, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes! He doesn’t want any food.”

      “I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.

      The man stopped eating. He regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and the greatest surprise.

      “Looked? When?”

      “Just now.”

      “Where?”

      “Yonder,” said I, and pointed; “over there, where I found him. He was sleeping, and I thought it was you.”

      He held me by the collar and stared at me. I began to think his first idea to cut my throat revived again.

      “Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained. I was trembling. “Didn’t you hear the cannon last night?”

      “Then there was firing!” he said to himself.

      “He had a badly bruised face,” said I.

      “Not here?” exclaimed the man. He stroke his left cheek mercilessly, with the flat of his hand.

      “Yes, there!”

      “Where is he?” He crammed little food into the breast of his gray jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down[12], like a bloodhound. But first give me the file, boy.”

      I indicated the direction. He looked at me for an instant. But then he sat on the wet grass and began to file his iron like a madman. I told him I must go, but he took no notice.

      Chapter 4

      I expected to find a Constable in the kitchen. I was ready to go to the prison. But Mrs. Joe was prodigiously busy in the house. She was preparing for the festivities of the day.

      We were going to have a superb dinner of a leg of pickled pork and greens, and a pair of roast stuffed fowls. A handsome mince-pie was made yesterday morning. The pudding was already on the boil.

      We were waiting for Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, and Mr. Hubble[13] the wheelwright and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe’s uncle), who was a cornchandler in the nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour was half-past one. Everything was most splendid. I heard not a word of the robbery.

      The time came, and the company arrived. I opened the door to the company. I opened it first to Mr. Wopsle, next to Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, and last of all to Uncle Pumblechook.

      “Mrs. Joe,” said Uncle Pumblechook, a large middle-aged slow man, with dull staring eyes, and sandy hair, “Mum, I have a bottle of sherry wine, and I have a bottle of port wine, too.”

      Every Christmas Day he presented himself with exactly the same words.

      We dined on these occasions in the kitchen. My sister was uncommonly lively on the present occasion. Indeed she was generally more gracious in the society of Mrs. Hubble than in other company.

      Soon we sat down to dinner. Mr. Wopsle said a prayer: we must be truly grateful. My sister said, in a low reproachful voice,

      “Do you hear that? Be grateful.”

      “Especially,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “be grateful, boy, to them which brought you up[14].”

      Mrs. Hubble shook her head and asked,

      “Why are the young boys never grateful?”

      Mr. Hubble answered,

      “They are just vicious.”

      Everybody then murmured “True!” and looked at me in a particularly unpleasant and personal manner.

      “Listen to this!” said my sister to me, in a severe parenthesis.

      “You must taste,” said my sister, addressing the guests with her best grace, “you must taste such a delightful and delicious present of Uncle Pumblechook’s! You must know, it’s a pie; a savory pork pie.”

      My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps. She went to the pantry. Mr. Pumblechook balanced his knife. I wanted to run away. I stood up. But I ran no farther than the house door. There stood a party of soldiers with their muskets.

      Chapter 5

      The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stared at us.

      “Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith.”

      “And why do you want him?” retorted my sister.

      “Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “a little job. You see, blacksmith, we had an accident with handcuffs. The lock of one of them goes wrong, it doesn’t act pretty. We need immediate service, will you look at them?”

      Joe looked at them and said,

      “The job will take two hours.”

      “Will you give me the time?” said the sergeant to Mr. Pumblechook.

      “It’s just half past two.”

      “That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant. “How far are the marshes? Not above a mile, I reckon?”

      “Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe.

      “Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle.

      “Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They are out on the marshes, and we are going to catch them.”

      At last, Joe’s job was finished. Joe got on his coat, and offered us to go down with the soldiers. Mr. Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined; but Mr. Wopsle was ready to go with Joe. Joe wanted to take me. What will say Mrs. Joe? Mrs. Joe said,

      “If you bring the boy back with his head crushed, don’t ask me to put it together again.”

      Soon we were all out in the raw air. We were steadily moving towards the marshs, and I whispered to Joe,

      “I hope, Joe, we shan’t find them.”

      Joe whispered to me,

      “I hope too, Pip.”

      The weather was cold and threatening, the way was dreary. The people had good fires and were celebtaring the day. A few faces looked after us from the windows, but none came out. We passed the finger-post, and held straight on to the churchyard. There we were stopped by a signal from the sergeant’s hand. Two or three of his men dispersed themselves among the graves, and examined the porch. They did not find anything. Joe took me on his back.

      I looked all about for any sign of the convicts. Finally, I saw them both. The soldiers stopped.

      After that they began to run. After a while, we heard a voice “Murder!” and another voice, “Convicts! Runaways! Guard! This way!” The soldiers ran like deer, and Joe too.

      “Here are both men!” panted the sergeant. “Surrender, you two!”

      Water was splashing, and mud was flying.

      “Mind that!” said my convict. He wiped blood from his face with his ragged sleeves: “I took him! I give him up to you! Mind that!”

      The other was bruised and torn all over.

      “Take notice, guard – he tried to murder me,” were his first words.

      “Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not do it? I took him; that’s all, I dragged him here. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me!”

      The

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