ip
and yet a Hercules for strength.

Very different, indeed, was "Mrs. Joe," as everybody spoke of her. She
was tall and bony and had black hair, a red skin and a continual habit
of scolding. She may have loved Pip in her way, but that way was a very
cross-grained one. She treated Joe, the big blacksmith, and Pip, the
little boy, just alike, and they were both equally in dread of her. This
made them quite like partners. Whenever Pip came into the house he used
to look at Joe's fingers; if Joe crossed them that was a sign Mrs. Joe
was cross and that Pip was to look out for himself.

Joe had an uncle named Pumblechook, who was a corn seller in the next
town and a pompous old hypocrite. He had a way of standing Pip before
him, rumpling up his hair and asking him hard questions out of the
multiplication table. And whenever he told a story of any one who was
ungrateful or wicked he would glower at Pip in a way that made him feel
very uncomfortable.

Another who came as often and was almost as dismal to see was Wopsle,
the clerk, who read the lesson in church every Sunday. He had an idea he
would make a great actor and used to recite whole pages from Shakespeare
when he could find any one to listen to him.

Worst of all was a workman of Joe's named Orlick. He was a loose-limbed,
swarthy, slouching giant with a hangdog look. He used to tell Pip that
the devil lived in a certain corner of the forge, and once in every
seven years the fire had to be rekindled with a live boy. Orlick at
heart disliked everybody--especially harmless little Pip--and often
quarreled with Mrs. Joe.

Beside the blacksmith, the only one who understood Pip was a little girl
named Biddy, about his own age and an orphan, too. She liked him and
used to help him with his lessons at school.

But in spite of Joe and Biddy, Pip was sometimes so lonely and miserable
that he would steal off alone to the village churchyard, where his
father and mother lay buried, to cry.

One afternoon--it was the day before Christmas--Pip was more wretched
than usual, and was sitting crying among the graves when suddenly a
rough voice spoke behind him. "Keep still, you little imp!" it said, "or
I'll cut your throat!" With the words a man rose up from behind a
tombstone and seized him.

He was a fearful-looking man, dressed all in gray clothes, with a great
iron band riveted on his leg. His shoes were torn, he had no hat and
wore a ragged, dirty handkerchief tied around