self-conscious, and rang the bell
constrainedly on account of the still long fingers of my new gloves. Miss
Havisham received me as usual, and I explained to her that I was to start
for London on the morrow, and that I had come into a fortune, for which I
was more grateful than I could express. She asked me a number of
questions, and then said:

"Well, you have a promising career before you. Be good, deserve it, and
abide by Mr. Jagger's instructions. Good-bye, Pip." She stretched out her
hand, and I knelt down and kissed it,--and so I left my fairy god-mother,
with both her hands on her crutch-stick, standing in the middle of the
dimly-lighted room.

I little dreamed then that it was not to her that I owed my Great
Expectations, but to my older acquaintance, the convict, for whom I had
robbed my sister's larder long ago. But of this I little dreamed, and knew
nothing until years later.

And now the six days had gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face. As my
departure drew near I became more appreciative of the society of my
family. On this last evening I dressed myself in my new clothes for their
delight, and sat in my splendour until bedtime. We had a hot supper on the
occasion, and pretended to be in high spirits, although none of us were.

All night my broken sleep was filled with fantastic visions, and I arose
early and sat by my window, taking a last look at the familiar view. Then
came an early, hurried breakfast, and then I kissed my sister and Biddy,
and threw my arms around Joe's neck, took up my little portmanteau, and
walked out. Presently I heard a scuffle behind me, and there was Joe,
throwing an old shoe after me. I waved my hat, and dear old Joe waved his
arm over his head, crying huskily, "Hooroar!"

I walked away rapidly then, thinking it was not so hard to go, after all.
But then came a thought of the peaceful village where I had been so
care-free and innocent, and beyond was the great unknown world,--and in a
moment, I broke into tears, sobbing:

"Good-bye, oh my dear, dear friend!" I was better after that, more sorry,
more aware of my ingratitude to Joe, more gentle.

So subdued was I by my tears that when I was on the coach, I deliberated,
with an aching heart, whether I should not get down when we changed
horses, and walk back for one more evening at home and a better parting,
but while I was still deliberating, we went on, and changed again, and
then it was too late and too far for me t