I fully expected to find a policeman in the kitchen, waiting to arrest me. But nobody had found out about the robbery yet. Mrs. Joe was very busy getting the house ready for Christmas dinner. She was in a terrible temper, as usual, cleaning the floors aggressively and making Joe and me stay out of her way. We had a quick, quiet breakfast, and then Joe and I went to church.
In my tight Sunday clothes, I felt very uncomfortable. But my physical pain was nothing compared to my guilty conscience. I was terrified that my terrible secret would be discovered, and I thought about the hungry man on the marshes all morning.
At half-past one, our dinner guests arrived. There was Mr. Wopsle, the church clerk, who had a large bald head and a very deep voice. There was Mr. Hubble, the wheelwright, and his wife. Finally, there was Uncle Pumblechook. He was Joe’s uncle, but my sister treated him like her own. He was a large, slow man with dull eyes and a mouth like a fish. Every Christmas Day, he brought two bottles of wine as a present, and my sister always acted as if it was a wonderful surprise.
During dinner, I felt very small and miserable. The adults seemed to think that Christmas was the perfect time to point out all my faults. They would not leave me alone, and they attacked me with words at every opportunity.
"Be grateful, boy, to those who brought you up by hand," said Uncle Pumblechook.
"Why are the young never grateful?" asked Mrs. Hubble, shaking her head sadly at me.
"Because they are naturally bad," Mr. Hubble answered.
Everyone at the table murmured in agreement and looked at me in a very unpleasant way. Joe always tried to comfort me when he could. Because there was plenty of gravy today, he quietly put a large spoonful of it onto my plate.
Mr. Wopsle then started talking about pigs. "What is bad in a pig is even worse in a boy," he said in his deep voice, pointing his fork at me.
Uncle Pumblechook agreed. "Think what you have to be grateful for. If you had been born a pig, you would have been killed and sold to the butcher long ago. There would be no bringing up by hand then!"
My sister joined in, reminding everyone of all the trouble I had caused her since I was a baby. Joe kindly gave me some more gravy, but I was too upset to eat it.
After some time, Uncle Pumblechook said, "Pork is very rich food, is it not?"
"Have a little brandy, uncle," said my sister.
My heart stopped. The moment had come at last! I held tightly to the leg of the table with both hands. I watched my sister get the stone bottle from the cupboard and pour the drink into a glass.
I could not look away. The miserable man picked up his glass, smiled, and drank it all at once. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. He started coughing wildly and dancing around the room in a panic. Then, he ran out the door, making terrible faces.
I held onto the table, shaking in terror. I thought I had murdered him. Mrs. Joe and Joe ran out to help him. A moment later, they brought him back inside. He fell into his chair, red in the face, and gasped one word: "Tar!"
I remembered then that I had filled the empty brandy bottle with my sister's horrible medicine, tar-water.
"Tar!" cried my sister in shock. "How could tar get into the brandy?"
But Uncle Pumblechook angrily waved his hand and asked for hot gin and water. My sister immediately hurried to make it for him. For the time being, I was safe. I still held onto the leg of the table, but now I held it with gratitude.
Slowly, I began to feel calm again. Everyone finished their main course, and I thought I might survive the day. But then, my sister spoke.
"You must taste the beautiful, savory pork pie that Uncle Pumblechook gave us," she said with her sweetest smile.
The company murmured in agreement. My sister got up and walked towards the pantry. I heard her footsteps on the wooden floorboards. I saw Mr. Pumblechook get his knife ready. I heard Joe say, "You shall have some pie, Pip."
I felt that I could not bear it for one more second. I knew what she would find in the pantry—or rather, what she would not find. I let go of the table leg, jumped up, and ran for my life.
But I did not get far. As soon as I opened the front door, I ran straight into a group of soldiers carrying guns. One of them held out a pair of metal handcuffs to me.
"Here you are, look sharp, come on!" he said.