After asking a number of questions with no satisfaction, Uncle Pumblechook began again.

“Now, boy,” he said, “what was Miss Havisham a-doing of when you went in to-day?”

“She was sitting,” I answered, “in a black velvet coach.”

My hearers stared at one another—­as they well might—­and repeated, “In a black velvet coach?”

“Yes,” said I, “and Miss Estella, that’s her niece, I think, handed her in cake and wine at the coach window on a gold plate.  And we all had cake and wine on gold plates.  And I got up behind the coach to eat mine because she told me to.”

“Was anybody else there?” asked Mr. Pumblechook.

“Four dogs,” said I.

“Large or small?”

“Immense,” said I.  “And they fought for veal cutlets out of a silver basket.”

My hearers stared at one another again in utter amazement.  I was perfectly frantic and would have told them anything.

“Where was this coach, in the name of gracious?” asked my sister.

“In Miss Havisham’s room.”  They stared again.  “But there weren’t any horses to it.”  I added this saving clause in the moment of rejecting four richly caparisoned coursers, which I had had wild thoughts of harnessing.

“Can this be possible, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe.  “What can the boy mean?”

“I’ll tell you, mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook.  “My opinion is it is a sedan-chair.  Well, boy, and what did you play at?”

“We played with flags,” I said.

“Flags!” echoed my sister.

“Yes,” said I.  “Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out at the coach window.  And then we all waved our swords and hurrahed.”

“Swords!” repeated my sister.  “Where did you get swords from?”

“Out of the cupboard,” said I.  “And I saw pistols in it—­and jam—­and pills.  And there was only candlelight in the room.”

If they had asked me any more questions I should undoubtedly have betrayed myself for I was just on the point of mentioning that there was a balloon in the yard and should have hazarded the statement, but that my invention was divided between that phenomenon and a bear in the brewery.

My hearers were so much occupied, however, in discussing the marvels I had already presented to them, that I escaped.  The subject still held them when Joe came in, and my experiences were at once related to him.  Now, when I saw his big blue eyes open in helpless amazement, I became penitent, but only in regard to him.  And so, after Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and my sister was busy, I stole into the forge and confessed my guilt.

“You remember all that about Miss Havisham’s?” I said.

“Remember!” said Joe.  “I believe you!  Wonderful!”

“It’s a terrible thing, Joe.  It ain’t true.”

“What are you a-telling of, Pip?” cried Joe.  “You don’t mean to say it!”