Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. After breakfast, Joe brought out my indentures from the press in the best parlour, and we put them in the fire, and I felt that I was free. With all the novelty of my emancipation on me, I went to church with Joe, and thought perhaps the clergyman wouldn’t have read that about the rich man and the kingdom of Heaven, if he had known all.
After our early dinner, I strolled out alone,purposing to finish off the marshes at once,and get them done with. As I passed the church,I felt (as I had felt during service in the morning) a sublime compassion for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after Sunday, all their lives through, and to lie obscurely at last among the low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them one of these days, and formed a plan in outline for bestowing a dinner of roast-beef and plum-pudding, a pint of ale, and a gallon of condescension, upon everybody in the village.
If I had often thought before,with something allied to shame,of my companionship with the fugitive whom I had once seen limping among those graves, what were my thoughts on this Sunday, when the place recalled the wretch, ragged and shivering, with his felon iron and badge!My comfort was, that it happened a long time ago,and that he had doubtless been transported a long way off,and that he was dead to me,and might be veritably dead into the bargain.
No more low, wet grounds, no more dikes and sluices,no more of these grazing cattle,—though they seemed,in their dull manner,to wear a more respectful air now, and to face round,in order that they might stare as long as possible at the possessor of such great expectations,—farewell, monotonous acquaintances of my childhood, henceforth I was for London and greatness; not for smith’s work in general, and for you!I made my exultant way to the old Battery, and,lying down there to consider the question whether Miss Havisham intended me for Estella, fell asleep.
When I awoke, I was much surprised to find Joe sitting beside me,smoking his pipe. He greeted me with a cheerful smile on my opening my eyes, and said,—
“As being the last time, Pip, I thought I’d foller.”
“And Joe, I am very glad you did so.”
“Thankee, Pip.”
“You may be sure, dear Joe,” I went on,after we had shaken hands,“that I shall never forget you.”
“No, no, Pip!” said Joe, in a comfortable tone, “_I_’m sure of that. Ay, ay, old chap!Bless you, it were only necessary to get it well round in a man’s mind,to be certain on it.But it took a bit of time to get it well round,the change come so oncommon plump; didn’t it?”
Somehow, I was not best pleased with Joe’s being so mightily secure of me.I should have liked him to have betrayed emotion,or to have said, “It does you credit, Pip,” or something of that sort. Therefore,I made no remark on Joe’s first head;merely saying as to his second,that the tidings had indeed come suddenly,but that I had always wanted to be a gentleman,and had often and often speculated on what I would do, if I were one.
“Have you though?” said Joe. “Astonishing!”
“It’s a pity now, Joe,” said I,“that you did not get on a little more,when we had our lessons here; isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “I’m so awful dull.I’m only master of my own trade.It were always a pity as I was so awful dull;but it’s no more of a pity now,than it was—this day twelvemonth—don’t you see?”
What I had meant was,that when I came into my property and was able to do something for Joe,it would have been much more agreeable if he had been better qualified for a rise in station. He was so perfectly innocent of my meaning, however, that I thought I would mention it to Biddy in preference.
So, when we had walked home and had had tea,I took Biddy into our little garden by the side of the lane,and, after throwing out in a general way for the elevation of her spirits,that I should never forget her,said I had a favour to ask of her.
“And it is, Biddy,” said I,“that you will not omit any opportunity of helping Joe on, a little.”
“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance.
“Well!Joe is a dear good fellow,—in fact,I think he is the dearest fellow that ever lived,—but he is rather backward in some things. For instance,Biddy, in his learning and his manners.”
Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke,and although she opened her eyes very wide when I had spoken,she did not look at me.
“O, his manners!won’t his manners do then?” asked Biddy, plucking a black-currant leaf.
“My dear Biddy, they do very well here—”
“O!they _do_ very well here?” interrupted Biddy,looking closely at the leaf in her hand.
“Hear me out,—but if I were to remove Joe into a higher sphere,as I shall hope to remove him when I fully come into my property,they would hardly do him justice.”
“And don’t you think he knows that?” asked Biddy.
It was such a very provoking question (for it had never in the most distant manner occurred to me), that I said, snappishly,—
“Biddy, what do you mean?”
Biddy, having rubbed the leaf to pieces between her hands,—and the smell of a black-currant bush has ever since recalled to me that evening in the little garden by the side of the lane,—said, “Have you never considered that he may be proud?”
“Proud?” I repeated, with disdainful emphasis.
“O!there are many kinds of pride,” said Biddy,looking full at me and shaking her head;“pride is not all of one kind—”
“Well?What are you stopping for?” said I.
“Not all of one kind,” resumed Biddy.“He may be too proud to let any one take him out of a place that he is competent to fill, and fills well and with respect. To tell you the truth, I think he is; though it sounds bold in me to say so, for you must know him far better than I do.”
“Now, Biddy,” said I,“I am very sorry to see this in you.I did not expect to see this in you. You are envious,Biddy, and grudging.You are dissatisfied on account of my rise in fortune,and you can’t help showing it.”
“If you have the heart to think so,” returned Biddy,“say so. Say so over and over again,if you have the heart to think so.”
“If you have the heart to be so, you mean, Biddy,” said I, in a virtuous and superior tone;“don’t put it off upon me. I am very sorry to see it,and it’s a—it’s a bad side of human nature.I did intend to ask you to use any little opportunities you might have after I was gone, of improving dear Joe. But after this I ask you nothing. I am extremely sorry to see this in you, Biddy,” I repeated. “It’s a—it’s a bad side of human nature.”
“Whether you scold me or approve of me,” returned poor Biddy,“you may equally depend upon my trying to do all that lies in my power,here, at all times.And whatever opinion you take away of me,shall make no difference in my remembrance of you.Yet a gentleman should not be unjust neither,” said Biddy, turning away her head.
I again warmly repeated that it was a bad side of human nature (in which sentiment, waiving its application, I have since seen reason to think I was right), and I walked down the little path away from Biddy, and Biddy went into the house, and I went out at the garden gate and took a dejected stroll until supper-time; again feeling it very sorrowful and strange that this, the second night of my bright fortunes, should be as lonely and unsatisfactory as the first.
But, morning once more brightened my view,and I extended my clemency to Biddy,and we dropped the subject.Putting on the best clothes I had,I went into town as early as I could hope to find the shops open,and presented myself before Mr. Trabb, the tailor,who was having his breakfast in the parlour behind his shop,and who did not think it worth his while to come out to me,but called me in to him.