My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had wandered into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard. "Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!" A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones; who limped and shivered, and glared and growled. "Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it, sir." "Tell us your name! quick!" "Pip, sir." "Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye live with?" I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs. Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir." "Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?" "Yes, sir." "And you know what wittles is?" "Yes, sir." "You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now what do you say?" I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning. As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket handkerchief), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had used for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round pork pie. There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes. It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with his back toward me. I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a great iron on his leg. He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went, and I lost him.