Great Expectations

"Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm

in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; "was that great guns,

Joe?"

"Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off."

"What does that mean, Joe?" said I.

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

"Escaped. Escaped." Administering the definition like Tar-water.

While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my

mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, "What's a convict?" Joe put his

mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I

could make out nothing of it but the single word "Pip."

"There was a conwict off last night," said Joe, aloud, "after

sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they're

firing warning of another."

"Who's firing?" said I.

"Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work,

"what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies."

It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be

told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite

unless there was company.

At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost

pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word

that looked to me like "sulks." Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs.

Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, "her?" But Joe wouldn't

hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook

the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of

the word.

"Mrs. Joe," said I, as a last resort, "I should like to know--if you

wouldn't much mind--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!"

Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, "Well, I told you so."

"And please, what's Hulks?" said I.

"That's the way with this boy!" exclaimed my sister, pointing me out

with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. "Answer him one

question, and he'll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships,

right 'cross th' meshes." We always used that name for marshes, in our

country.