The sound of her iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as she came along at a much brisker trot than usual.  We got a chair out, ready for Mrs. Joe’s alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might see a bright window, and took a final survey of the kitchen that nothing might be out of its place.  When we had completed these preparations, they drove up, wrapped to the eyes.  Mrs. Joe was soon landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air in with us that it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire.

“Now,” said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings:  “if this boy an’t grateful this night, he never will be!”

I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly uninformed why he ought to assume that expression.

“It’s only to be hoped,” said my sister, “that he won’t be Pomp-eyed.  But I have my fears.”

“She an’t in that line, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook.  “She knows better.”

She?  I looked at Joe, making the motion with my lips and eyebrows, “She?” Joe looked at me, making the motion with his lips and eyebrows, “She?” My sister catching him in the act, he drew the back of his hand across his nose with his usual conciliatory air on such occasions, and looked at her.

“Well?” said my sister, in her snappish way.  “What are you staring at?  Is the house a-fire?”

" — Which some individual,” Joe politely hinted, “mentioned — she.”

“And she is a she, I suppose?” said my sister.  “Unless you call Miss Havisham a he.  And I doubt if even you’ll go so far as that.”

“Miss Havisham, up town?” said Joe.

“Is there any Miss Havisham down town?” returned my sister.

“She wants this boy to go and play there.  And of course he’s going.  And he had better play there,” said my sister, shaking her head at me as an encouragement to be extremely light and sportive, “or I’ll work him.”

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

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

“Noodle!” cried my sister.  “Who said she knew him?”

" — Which some individual,” Joe again politely hinted, “mentioned that she wanted him to go and play there.”