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Pip meets a stranger
My first name was Philip,but when I was a small child I could only manage to say Pip was what every-body called lived in a small village in Essex with my sister,who was over twenty years older than me,and married to Joe Gargery,the village parents had died when I was a baby,so I could not remember them at all,but quite often I used to visit the churchyard,abut a mile from the village,to look at their names on their gravestones.
My first memory is of sitting on a gravestone in that church-yard one cold,grey,December afternoon,looking out at the dark,flat,wild marshes divided by the black line of the River Thames,and listening to the rushing sound of the sea in the distance.
‘Don't say a word!’cried a terrible voice,as a man jumped up from among the graves and caught hold of me.‘If you shout I'll cut your throat!’He was a big man,dressed all in grey,with an iron chain on his clothes were wet and looked exhausted,and hungry,and very had never been so frightened in my whole life.
‘Oh!Don't cut my throat,sir!’I begged in terror.
‘Tell me your name,boy!Quick!’he said,still holding me.‘And show me where you live!’
‘My name's Pip, I live in the village over there.’
He picked me up and turned me upside- fell out of my pocket except a piece of old ate it in two bites,like a dog,and put me back on the gravestone.
‘So where are your father and mother?’he asked.
‘There,sir,’I answered,pointing to their graves.
‘What!’he cried,and was about to run,when he saw where I was pointing.‘Oh!’he said.‘ I 're ,who do you live with,if I let you live,which I haven't decided yet?’
‘With my sister,sir,wife of Joe Gargery,the blacksmith.’
Blacksmith,you say?And he looked down at his he h