She had acquired a great reputation among the neighbours
because she had brought me up by hand. Not understanding this expression,
and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit
of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe
Gargery and I were both brought up by hand.
Joe, her husband, was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going,
foolish, dear fellow, with light curly hair and blue eyes, and he and I
were great chums, as well as fellow-sufferers under the rule of my
sharp-tongued sister.
One afternoon I was wandering in the church-yard where my mother and
father were buried, when I was accosted by a fearful man all in coarse
grey, with a great iron on his leg. He wore no hat and had broken shoes,
and an old rag tied round his head. He limped and shivered, and glared and
growled, his teeth chattering, as he seized me by the chin.
"O don't cut my throat, sir!" I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
sir!"
"Tell us your name," said the man, "quick!"
"Pip, sir,"
"Show us where you live," he said. "Point out the place!"
I pointed to where our village lay, and then the man, after looking at me
for a moment, turned me upside down and emptied my pockets, but there was
nothing in them except a piece of bread.
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