By these approaches we arrived at unrestricted conversation. I was slow to gain strength, but I did slowly and surely become less weak, and Joe stayed with me, and I fancied I was little Pip again.
For, the tenderness of Joe was so beautifully proportioned to my need, that I was like a child in his hands. He would sit and talk to me in the old confidence, and with the old simplicity, and in the old unassertive protecting way, so that I would half believe that all my life since the days of the old kitchen was one of the mental troubles of the fever that was gone. He did everything for me except the household work, for which he had engaged a very decent woman, after paying off the laundress on his first arrival. `Which I do assure you, Pip,' he would often say, in explanation of that liberty; `I found her a tapping the spare bed, like a cask of beer, and drawing off the feathers in a bucket, for sale. Which she would have tapped yourn next, and draw'd it off with you a laying on it, and was then a carrying away the coals gradiwally in the souptureen and wegetable-dishes, and the wine and spirits in your Wellington boots.'
We looked forward to the day when I should go out for a ride, as we had once looked forward to the day of my apprenticeship. And when the day came, and an open carriage was got into the Lane, Joe wrapped me up, took me in his arms, carried me down to it, and put me in, as if I were still the small helpless creature to whom he had so abundantly given of the wealth of his great nature.
And Joe got in bedside me, and we drove away together into the country, where the rich summer growth was already on the trees and on the grass, and sweet summer scents filled all the air. The day happened to be Sunday, and when I looked on the loveliness around me, and thought how it had grown and changed, and how the little wild flowers had been forming, and the voices of the birds had been strengthening, by day and by night, under the sun and under the stars, while poor I lay burning and tossing on my bed, the mere remembrance of having burned and tossed there, came like a check upon my peace. But, when I heard the Sunday bells, and looked around a little more upon the outspread beauty, I felt that I was not nearly thankful enough - that I was too weak yet, to be even that - and I laid my head on Joe's shoulder, as I had laid it long ago when he had taken me to the Fair or where not, and it was too much for my young senses.
More composure came to me after a while, and we talked as we used to talk, lying on the grass at the old Battery. There was no change whatever in Joe. Exactly what he had been in my eyes then, he was in my eyes still;just as simply faithful, and as simply right.
When we got back again and he lifted me out, and carried me - so easily - across the court and up the stairs, I thought of that eventful Christmas Day when he had carried me over the marshes. We had not yet made any allusion to my change of fortune, nor did I know how much of my late history he was acquainted with. I was so doubtful of myself now, and put so much trust in him, that I could not satisfy myself whether I ought to refer to it when he did not.
`Have you heard, Joe,' I asked him that evening, upon further consideration, as he smoked his pipe at the window, `who my patron was?'
`I heerd,' returned Joe, `as it were not Miss Havisham, old chap.'
`Did you hear who it was, Joe?'
`Well! I heerd as it were a person what sent the person what giv'you the bank-notes at the Jolly Bargemen, Pip.'
`So it was.'
`Astonishing!' said Joe, in the placidest way.
`Did you hear that he was dead, Joe?' I presently asked, with increasing diffidence.
`Which? Him as sent the bank-notes, Pip?'
`Yes.'
`I think,' said Joe, after meditating a long time, and looking rather evasively at the window-seat, `as I did hear tell that how he were something or another in a general way in that direction.'
`Did you hear anything of his circumstances, Joe?'
`Not partickler, Pip.'
`If you would like to hear, Joe--' I was beginning, when Joe got up and came to my sofa.
`Lookee here, old chap,' said Joe, bending over me. `Ever the best of friends; ain't us, Pip?'
I was ashamed to answer him.
`Wery good, then,' said Joe, as if I had answered; `that's all right, that's agreed upon. Then why go into subjects, old chap, which as betwixt two sech must be for ever onnecessary? There's subjects enough as betwixt two sech, without onnecessary ones. Lord! To think of your poor sister and her Rampages! And don't you remember Tickler?'
`I do indeed, Joe.'
`Lookee here, old chap,' said Joe. `I done what I could to keep you and Tickler in sunders, but my power were not always fully equal to my inclinations. For when your poor sister had a mind to drop into you, it were not so much,' said Joe, in his favourite argumentative way, `that she dropped into me too, if I put myself in opposition to her but that she dropped into you always heavier for it. I noticed that. It ain't a grab at a man's whisker, not yet a shake or two of a man (to which your sister was quite welcome), that 'ud put a man off from getting a little child out of punishment. But when that little child is dropped into, heavier, for that grab of whisker or shaking, then that man naterally up and says to himself, "Where is the good as you are a doing? I grant you I see the 'arm," says the man, "but I don't see the good. I call upon you, sir, theerfore, to pint out the good."'
`The man says?' I observed, as Joe waited for me to speak.
`The man says,' Joe assented. `Is he right, that man?'
`Dear Joe, he is always right.'
`Well, old chap,' said Joe, `then abide by your words. If he's always right (which in general he's more likely wrong), he's right when he says this: - Supposing ever you kep any little matter to yourself, when you was a little child, you kep it mostly because you know'd as J. Gargery's power to part you and Tickler in sunders, were not fully equal to his inclinations.