"Yes, Joe."

"'Consequence, my mother and me we ran away from my father several

times; and then my mother she'd go out to work, and she'd say, "Joe,"

she'd say, "now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child," and

she'd put me to school. But my father were that good in his hart that

he couldn't abear to be without us. So, he'd come with a most tremenjous

crowd and make such a row at the doors of the houses where we was, that

they used to be obligated to have no more to do with us and to give us

up to him. And then he took us home and hammered us. Which, you see,

Pip," said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of the fire, and

looking at me, "were a drawback on my learning."

"Certainly, poor Joe!"

"Though mind you, Pip," said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of the

poker on the top bar, "rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining

equal justice betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his hart,

don't you see?"

I didn't see; but I didn't say so.

"Well!" Joe pursued, "somebody must keep the pot a biling, Pip, or the

pot won't bile, don't you know?"

I saw that, and said so.

"'Consequence, my father didn't make objections to my going to work; so

I went to work to work at my present calling, which were his too, if he

would have followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure you, Pip.

In time I were able to keep him, and I kep him till he went off in a

purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his

tombstone that, Whatsume'er the failings on his part, Remember reader he

were that good in his heart."

Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful

perspicuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself.

"I made it," said Joe, "my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like

striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never was so much

surprised in all my life,--couldn't credit my own ed,--to tell you the

truth, hardly believed it were my own ed. As I was saying, Pip, it were

my intentions to have had it cut over him; but poetry costs money, cut

it how you will, small or large, and it were not done. Not to mention

bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted for my mother.

She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She weren't long of following,

poor soul, and her share of peace come round at last."




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