All that morning I was frightened that my sister would discover that I had stolen from her, but luckily she was so busy cleaning the house, and roasting the chickens for our Christmas lunch that she did not notice that I had been out, or that any food was missing. At half past one our two guests arrived. Mr Wopsle had a large nose and a shining, bald forehead, and was the church clerk. Mr Pumblechook, who had a shop in the nearest town, was a fat, middle-aged man with a mouth like a fish, and staring eyes. He was really Joe's uncle but it was Mrs Joe who called him uncle. Every Christmas Day he arrived with two bottles of wine, handing them proudly to my sister.

"Oh Uncle Pumblechook! This is kind!" she always replied.

Sitting at table with these guests I would have felt uncomfortable even if I hadn't robbed my sister. Not only was Pumblechook's elbow in my eye, but I wasn't allowed to speak, and they gave me the worst pieces of meat. Even the chickens must have been ashamed of those parts of their bodies when they were alive. And worse than that, the adults never left me in peace.

"It's no more than you deserve," was the answer every time.

Joe offered me more gravy.

"Before we eat, let us thank God for the food in front of us," said Mr Wopsle, in the deep voice he used in church.

"Do you hear that?" whispered my sister to me. "Be grateful!"

When there were guests, Joe's position was even lower than usual (if that was possible), but he always tried to help me if he could. Sometimes he comforted me by giving me extra gravy. He did that now.

"You listen to this," said my sister to me crossly.

"Trouble?" she cried. "Trouble?" And then she started on a list of all my illnesses, accidents and crimes, while everybody except Joe looked at me with disgust. Joe added more gravy to the meat swimming on my plate, and I wanted to pull Mr Wopsle's nose.

"Their characters are naturally bad," answered Mr Pumblechook, and all three looked unpleasantly at me.

"Why are the young never grateful?" wondered Mr Wopsle sadly.

"He was a lot of trouble to you, madam," Mr Wopsle said sympathetically to my sister.

"If, as I say, she hadn't spent her life looking after you, where would you be now?"

"Especially," said Mr Pumblechook firmly, "be grateful, boy, to those who brought you up by hand."

"Just imagine, boy," said Mr Pumblechook, "if your sister hadn't brought you up --"

"But how could my medicine get into a brandy bottle?" asked my sister. Fortunately she had no time to find the answer, as Mr Pumblechook was calling for a hot rum to remove the taste of the medicine. "And now," she said, when the fat man was calmer, "you must all try Uncle Pumblechook's present to us! A really delicious meat pie!"

In the end Mrs Joe stopped for breath, and said to Mr Pumblechook, "Have a little brandy, uncle. There is a bottle already open."

It had happened at last! Now she would discover I had stolen some brandy, and put water in the bottle. Mr Pumblechook held his glass up to the light, smiled importantly at it and drank it. When, immediately afterwards, he jumped up and began to rush round the room in a strange wild dance, we all stared at him in great surprise. Was he mad? I wondered if I had murdered him, but if so, how? At last he threw himself gasping into a chair, crying "Medicine!" Then I understood. Instead of filling up the brandy bottle with water, I had put Mrs Joe's strongest and most unpleasant medicine in by mistake. That was what the big brown bottle contained.

"That's right, Mrs Joe!" said Mr Pumblechook, looking more cheerful now. "Bring in the pie!"

But at the front door I ran straight into a group of soldiers. Mrs Joe was saying as she came out of the kitchen, "The pie-has-gone!" but stopped when she saw the soldiers.

I knew what would happen next. I could not sit there any longer. I jumped down from the table, and ran out of the room.

"And why do you want him?" said my sister crossly.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said the officer in charge. "I'm here in the King's name, and I want the black-smith."

"Madam," replied the officer Politely,"speaking for myself, I'd like the pleasure of meeting his fine wife. Speaking for the King, I'd like him to repair these handcuffs."

"You shall have some, Pip," said Joe kindly.

"Ah, very good, very good!" said Mr Pumblechook, clapping.

"How far are we from the marshes?" asked the officer.

The soldiers waited in the kitchen while Joe lit the forge fire and started work. I began to feel better now that everyone had forgotten the missing pie.

"About a mile," replied Mrs Joe.

"That's good. We'll catch them before it's dark."

Suddenly we all stopped. We heard shouts in the distance.

"Yes, two escaped convicts out on the marshes. Has anyone here seen them?"

"I hope not either, Pip," he whispered back. It was cold, with an east wind blowing from the sea, and it was getting dark.

"Convicts, officer?" asked Mr Wopsle.

"This way! Run!" the officer ordered, and we all rushed in that direction. The shouts became clearer. "Murder!" "Escaped convict!" "Help!" At last we discovered two men fighting each other. One was my convict, and the other was the man who had run away when I had seen him near the shelter. Somehow the soldiers held the men apart and put the handcuffs on them.

"I hope we don't find those poor men, Joe," I whispered.

The others all shook their heads. Nobody asked me. When the handcuffs were ready, Joe suggested we should go with the soldiers, and as Mrs Joe was curious to know what happened, she agreed. So Joe, Mr Wopsle and I walked behind the men through the village and out on to the marshes.

"Here he is, I'm holding him for you!" shouted my convict.

"Officer, he tried to murder me!" cried the other man. His face was bleeding and he was clearly very frightened.

The prisoners were taken to the riverside, where a boat was waiting to take them on to the prison-ship. Just as he was about to leave, my convict said, "Officer, after my escape, I stole some food, from the blacksmith's house. Bread, cheese, brandy and a meat pie. I'm sorry I ate your pie, blacksmith."

"I'm glad you did," replied Joe kindly. "We don't know why you're a convict, but we wouldn't want you to die of hunger."

"Murder him! No," said the first, "that would be too easy. I want him to suffer more, back on the prison-ship. He's lying, as he did at our trial! You can't trust Compeyson!"

Just then he noticed me for the first time. I shook my head at him, to show that I had not wanted the soldiers to find him. He stared at me, but I did not know if he understood or not.

The man rubbed his eyes with the back of his dirty hand. We watched the small boat carry him out to the middle of the river, where the great black prison-ship stood high out of the water, held by its rusty chains. He disappeared into the ship, and I thought that was the last I had seen of him.