When I was old enough, I was going to work for Joe at the forge and learn to be a blacksmith. Until then, I did small jobs for our neighbours, like scaring birds away from their fields. All the money I earned went into a box on the kitchen shelf, and I never saw it again.
I also tried to learn how to read and write. Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt ran an evening school in the village, but she was a very old woman who usually fell asleep during our lessons. Her granddaughter, Biddy, was an orphan like me. Biddy was the one who actually helped me. Slowly, with a lot of difficulty, I began to understand the alphabet and simple numbers.
One cold winter night, about a year after the hunt on the marshes, I sat by the kitchen fire. I was expending a lot of effort to write a letter to Joe on my small chalkboard. Although Joe was sitting right next to me, I proudly handed him the board when I finished.
Joe opened his blue eyes wide. "I say, Pip, old chap!" he cried. "What a clever scholar you are!"
I asked him to read it, but I quickly realized that Joe could not read. He could only recognize two letters: J and O.
"Didn't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were young?" I asked.
"No, Pip," Joe said. He took an iron tool and slowly moved the coal in the fire. "I'll tell you why. My father drank too much. When he was drunk, he hit my mother and me. So, we ran away a few times. My mother tried to send me to school, but my father always found us. He made a terrible noise outside the school until we went back to him. Then he hit us again. That stopped my learning."
"Poor Joe!" I said.
"Yes, but somebody had to work to buy food," Joe went on. "So I became a blacksmith. I worked hard and took care of my parents until they died." Joe looked at the fire with watery eyes. "It was lonely here after that. Then I met your sister. She is a fine woman, Pip."
I looked at the fire and said nothing. I knew how cruel my sister could be.
"I know she can be difficult," Joe whispered, looking nervously at the door. "She likes to be the boss of this house. But Pip, my poor mother worked so hard and suffered so much. Because of that, I am terrified of doing the wrong thing to a woman. I would rather let your sister be angry at me than ever be cruel to her. I wish she didn't hit you, Pip, but I hope you understand."
Young as I was, I understood. From that night on, I admired Joe more than ever. I felt in my heart that he was a truly good man. Joe also asked me to teach him how to read in secret, because Mrs. Joe would not like it if he became too smart. She always wanted to be the smartest person in the house.
"However," Joe said, standing up to put more coal on the fire, "the clock is almost striking eight, and she isn’t home yet! I hope Uncle Pumblechook’s horse didn't slip on the ice."
Mrs. Joe had gone to the market with Uncle Pumblechook. It was a freezing, windy night. Suddenly, we heard the sound of horse shoes on the hard road. We quickly made the kitchen look tidy. Soon, Mrs. Joe and Uncle Pumblechook came in from the cold.
"Now," Mrs. Joe said excitedly, taking off her winter coat, "if this boy isn't grateful tonight, he never will be!"
I tried to look as grateful as possible, although I had no idea what she was talking about.
"She wants this boy to go and play there," my sister said, pointing at me. "And of course, he is going."
"She?" Joe asked in surprise. "Do you mean Miss Havisham in town?"
I had heard of Miss Havisham. Everyone for miles knew about her. She was a very rich and frightening old lady who lived alone in a large, dark house. She kept her doors locked against robbers and never went out.
"Yes!" cried my sister. "Uncle Pumblechook went to her house today to pay his rent. She asked him if he knew a boy who could come and play there. He kindly mentioned Pip. This could make the boy's fortune! Uncle Pumblechook is going to take him to town tonight in his cart. He will sleep at his house and go to Miss Havisham’s tomorrow morning."
Before I could understand what was happening, my sister grabbed me like an eagle catching a lamb. She dragged me to the sink and began to wash me aggressively. She scrubbed my face with strong soap, pulled my hair, and rubbed my skin with a rough towel until I was completely red.
When she finally finished, she dressed me in my tightest, stiffest suit of clothes. Then, she handed me over to Uncle Pumblechook.
"Boy, be forever grateful to the friends who took care of you!" Mr. Pumblechook told me proudly.
"Good-bye, Joe!" I called out.
"God bless you, Pip, old chap!" Joe replied.
I had never left Joe before. As the cart drove away into the cold, dark night, tears filled my eyes. I looked up at the stars and wondered why on earth I was going to Miss Havisham's house, and what on earth I was expected to play.