In the outer office Wemmick offered me his congratulations, and incidentally rubbed the side of his nose with a folded piece of tissue-paper that I liked the look of. But he said nothing respecting it, and motioned me with a nod into my guardian's room. It was November, and my guardian was standing before his fire leaning his back against the chimney-piece, with his hands under his coattails.

     "Well, Pip," said he, "I must call you Mr. Pip to-day. Congratulations, Mr. Pip."

     We shook hands,--he was always a remarkably short shaker,--and I thanked him.

     "Take a chair, Mr. Pip," said my guardian.

     As I sat down, and he preserved his attitude and bent his brows at his boots, I felt at a disadvantage, which reminded me of that old time when I had been put upon a tombstone. The two ghastly casts on the shelf were not far from him, and their expression was as if they were making a stupid apoplectic attempt to attend to the conversation.

     "Now my young friend," my guardian began, as if I were a witness in the box, "I am going to have a word or two with you."

     "If you please, sir."