One night, about a year after our hunt for the convicts, Joe and I sat together in the chimney corner while I struggled with a letter which I was writing on my slate to Joe, for practice.  As we sat there, Joe made the fire and swept the hearth, for we were momentarily expecting Mrs. Joe.  It was market day, and she had gone to market with Uncle Pumblechook to assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a woman’s judgment.  Just as we had completed our preparations, she and Uncle Pumblechook drove up, and came in wrapped up to the eyes, for it was a bitter night.

“Now,” said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself in haste and excitement, “if this boy ain’t grateful to-night, he never will be!”

I looked as grateful as any boy could who had no idea what he was to be grateful about, and after many side remarks addressed to the others, Mrs. Joe informed me that Miss Havisham wished me to go and play at her house for her amusement.  “And of course, he’s going,” added my sister severely, “And he had better play there, or I’ll work him!”

I had heard of Miss Havisham, everybody for miles round had heard of her, as an immensely rich and grim old lady, who lived a life of seclusion in a large and dismal house, barricaded against robbers.

“Well, to be sure,” said Joe, astounded, “I wonder how she comes to know Pip!”

“Noodle,” said my sister, “who said she knew him?  Couldn’t she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there?  And couldn’t Uncle Pumblechook, being always thoughtful for us, then mention this boy, that I have forever been a willing slave to?” After this she added, “For anything we can tell, the boy’s fortune is made by this.  Uncle Pumblechook has offered to take him into town to-night and keep him over night, and to take him with his own hands to Miss Havisham’s to-morrow morning, and Lor-a-mussy me!” cried my sister.  “Here I stand talking, with Uncle Pumblechook waiting, and the mare catching cold at the door, and the boy grimed with dirt from the hair of his head to the sole of his foot!” With that she pounced on me and I was scraped and kneaded, and towelled and thumped, and harrowed and reaped, until I was really quite beside myself.  When at last my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the stiffest character, and in my tightest and fearfullest suit, I was then delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook, who said dramatically:  “Boy, be forever grateful to all friends, but especially unto them which brought you up by hand!”

“Good-bye, Joe.”

“God bless you, Pip, old chap!”

I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings, and what with soap-suds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise cart.  But they twinkled out one by one without throwing any light on the question why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham’s, and what on earth I was expected to play at.