Great Expectations

Eight o'clock had struck before I got into the air, that was scented,

not disagreeably, by the chips and shavings of the long-shore

boat-builders, and mast, oar, and block makers. All that water-side

region of the upper and lower Pool below Bridge was unknown ground to

me; and when I struck down by the river, I found that the spot I wanted

was not where I had supposed it to be, and was anything but easy to

find. It was called Mill Pond Bank, Chinks's Basin; and I had no other

guide to Chinks's Basin than the Old Green Copper Rope-walk.

It matters not what stranded ships repairing in dry docks I lost myself

among, what old hulls of ships in course of being knocked to pieces,

what ooze and slime and other dregs of tide, what yards of ship-builders

and ship-breakers, what rusty anchors blindly biting into the ground,

though for years off duty, what mountainous country of accumulated casks

and timber, how many ropewalks that were not the Old Green Copper. After

several times falling short of my destination and as often overshooting

it, I came unexpectedly round a corner, upon Mill Pond Bank. It was a

fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered, where the wind from

the river had room to turn itself round; and there were two or three

trees in it, and there was the stump of a ruined windmill, and there

was the Old Green Copper Ropewalk,--whose long and narrow vista I could

trace in the moonlight, along a series of wooden frames set in the

ground, that looked like superannuated haymaking-rakes which had grown

old and lost most of their teeth.

Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond Bank a house with a

wooden front and three stories of bow-window (not bay-window, which is

another thing), I looked at the plate upon the door, and read there,

Mrs. Whimple. That being the name I wanted, I knocked, and an elderly

woman of a pleasant and thriving appearance responded. She was

immediately deposed, however, by Herbert, who silently led me into

the parlor and shut the door. It was an odd sensation to see his very

familiar face established quite at home in that very unfamiliar room

and region; and I found myself looking at him, much as I looked at

the corner-cupboard with the glass and china, the shells upon the

chimney-piece, and the colored engravings on the wall, representing the

death of Captain Cook, a ship-launch, and his Majesty King George the

Third in a state coachman's wig, leather-breeches, and top-boots, on the

terrace at Windsor.

"All is well, Handel," said Herbert, "and he is quite satisfied, though

eager to see you. My dear girl is with her father; and if you'll wait

till she comes down, I'll make you known to her, and then we'll go up

stairs. That's her father."