Great Expectations

Young as I was, I believe that I dated a new admiration of Joe from that

night. We were equals afterwards, as we had been before; but, afterwards

at quiet times when I sat looking at Joe and thinking about him, I had

a new sensation of feeling conscious that I was looking up to Joe in my

heart.

"However," said Joe, rising to replenish the fire; "here's the

Dutch-clock a working himself up to being equal to strike Eight of 'em,

and she's not come home yet! I hope Uncle Pumblechook's mare mayn't have

set a forefoot on a piece o' ice, and gone down."

Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days,

to assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a

woman's judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no

confidences in his domestic servant. This was market-day, and Mrs. Joe

was out on one of these expeditions.

Joe made the fire and swept the hearth, and then we went to the door to

listen for the chaise-cart. It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew

keenly, and the frost was white and hard. A man would die to-night of

lying out on the marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, and

considered how awful if would be for a man to turn his face up to them

as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering

multitude.

"Here comes the mare," said Joe, "ringing like a peal of bells!"

The sound of her iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as she

came along at a much brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out, ready

for Mrs. Joe's alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might see a

bright window, and took a final survey of the kitchen that nothing might

be out of its place. When we had completed these preparations, they

drove up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs. Joe was soon landed, and Uncle

Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with a cloth, and we

were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air in with us that

it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire.

"Now," said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and

throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings,

"if this boy ain't grateful this night, he never will be!"

I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly

uninformed why he ought to assume that expression.