a crow, especially when I stand a’top of this pine tree here. Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Ain’t I a crow? And where’s the scare-crow?

There he stands; two bones stuck into a pair of old trowsers, and two more poked into the sleeves of an old jacket.”

“Wonder if he means me? — complimentary! — poor lad! — I could go hang myself. Any way, for the present, I’ll quit Pip’s vicinity. I can stand the rest, for they have plain wits; but he’s too crazy-witty for my sanity. So, so, I leave him muttering.”

“Here’s the ship’s navel, this doubloon here, and they are all on fire to unscrew it.

But, unscrew your navel, and what’s the consequence? Then again, if it stays here, that is ugly, too, for when aught’s