My father looked unhappy, my mother cried; Mrs Sparrow (who was present at the interview) was silent, and I wept loudly and promised to reform--honestly resolving I would do so.
Well, for a week I was a model of punctuality and industry; but then the confectioner changed his sugar negro for an elephant made all of toffee, and I was once more beguiled.

Once more from top of my class I sank to the bottom; and though after that I took fits and starts of regularity and study, I never was able for long together to recover my place, and Mrs Sparrow fairly gave me up as a bad job.
What was to be done?
I was growing up.

In time my twelfth birthday arrived, and it was _time_ I went to boarding school.
I could see with what anxiety my parents looked forward to the time, and I inwardly reproached myself for being the cause of their trouble.
"Perhaps," thought I, "I shall get all right at Welford," and having consoled myself with that possibility I thought no more about it.

My father talked very earnestly to me before I left home for the first time in my life.

He had no fears, he said, for my honesty or my good principles; but he had fears for my perseverance and diligence.