standing. He had a paper-bag under each arm and a pottle of
strawberries in one hand, and was out of breath.

' Mr. Pip?' said he.

' Mr. Pocket?' said I.

'Dear me!' he exclaimed. 'I am extremely sorry; but I knew
there was a coach from your part of the country at midday, and
I thought you would come by that one. The fact is, I have been
out on your account--not that that is any excuse--for I thought,
coming from the country, you might like a little fruit after
dinner, and I went to Covent Garden Market to get it good.'

For a reason that I had, I felt as if my eyes would start out
of my head. I acknowledged his attention incoherently, and be-
gan to think this was a dream.

'Dear me!' said Mr. Pocket, Junior. 'This door sticks so!'

As he was fast making jam of his fruit by wrestling with the
door while the paper-bags were under his arms, I begged him to
allow me to hold them. He relinquished them with an agreeable
smile, and combated with the door as if it were a wild beast. It
yielded so suddenly at last, that he staggered back upon me, and
I staggered back upon the opposite door, and we both laughed.
But still I felt as if my eyes must start out of my head, and as
if this must be a dream.

'Pray come in,' said Mr. Pocket, Junior. 'Allow me to lead the
way. I am rather bare here, but I hope you'll be able to make
out tolerably well till Monday. My father thought you would
get on more agreeably through to-morrow with me than with
him, and might like to take a walk about London. I am sure
I shall be very happy to show London to you. As to our table,
you won't find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied from our
coffee-house here, and (it is only right I should add) at your ex-
pense, such being Mr. Jaggers's directions. As to our lodging, it's
not by any means splendid, because I have my own bread to
earn, and my father hasn't anything to give me, and I shouldn't
be willing to take it, if he had. This is our sitting-room--just such
chairs and tables and carpet and so forth, you see, as they could
spare from home. You mustn't give me credit for the tablecloth
and spoons and castors, because they come for you from the
coffee-house. This is my little bedroom; rather musty, but Barn-

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