'Set you down and get your breath,' he said kindly.
'Why, it's you!' said Philip.
'Course it is. Who should I be if I wasn't me? That's poetry.'
'But how did you get here?'
'Ah!' said the man going on with his bread and cheese, while he talked quite in the friendliest way, 'that's telling.'
'Well, tell then,' said Philip impatiently. But he sat down.
'Well, you say it's me. Who be it? Give it a name.'
'You're old Perrin,' said Pip; 'I mean, of course, I beg your pardon, you're Mr. Perrin, the carpenter.'
'And what does carpenters do?'
'Carp, I suppose,' said Philip. 'That means they make things, doesn't it?'