My father's family name being Pirrip and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both nothing longer than Pip. I was brought up by hand by my sister, who was more than twenty years older than me and married to Joe Gargery the blacksmith. On a raw Christmas Eve, among the graves of five little brothers, a man started up from behind a stone. He had a great iron on his leg and broken shoes and mud all over him. Keep still, he said, or I'll cut your throat. He turned me upside down to empty my pockets and found one crust of bread. He told me to bring him a file and food by morning, and he named a young man who would tear out my heart if I failed. I stole a pork pie and Joe's file from the forge and ran across the marshes before light.