I fear, during the months that followed, this ardent young "coach" was frequently on the point of disgrace. For a week or two I surprised myself with my industry. Then I caught myself wondering at odd times whether I was really as sure of passing as I fancied, and whether, if I failed, it would not be a horrible sell to have worked so hard for nothing. Then for a day or so I came in a little late, and took to grumbling over my tasks. "Now, look here, Jones," said she, one day, "you were five minutes late on Monday, ten minutes late on Tuesday and Wednesday, and a quarter of an hour late to-day. How much is that in the week?" "Forty minutes," said I; mental arithmetic was a strong point with me. "Very good; there's forty minutes lost. The examination may turn on the very lesson you might have learned in that time. Now, I'm not going to threaten you, but what should you say if I were to call at the office and fetch you every day?" I nearly jumped out of my chair. "Oh, don't, please don't, Miss Steele!" said I. "I'll be here to the second, in future, I promise." "All right," said she, with a smile, and the subject dropped. This dreadful threat kept me up to the mark for the next few weeks, but even it lost its terrors in time, and my preceptress had to apply the spur in other ways as the time went on. Once, after I had been particularly slack, and had, moreover, been so rude to her that she ended the lesson abruptly, I thought it was all up. For, when I presented myself next day, I was informed by the servant that Miss Steele was busy, and had no time to see me. I was locked out! My dismay knew no bounds. Suppose she had "chucked" me altogether, what would become of my chance of getting into Low Heath? I retired home in great perturbation, and confided the state of the case to my mother, who advised me there and then to sit down and write an apology. I had never done such a thing in my life. Once I had verbally begged Tempest's pardon for some error; but to commit myself in writing to a girl! "My dear Miss Steele," I wrote,--"I'm sorry. Yours truly, T. Jones." "That will do very well," said my mother. "It's not too long, at the same time it says what you want to say." I wasn't altogether pleased with it myself, but allowed the maid to take it up to the school, with instructions to wait for an answer. In due time she returned with a missive from Miss Steele. "My dear Jones,--To-morrow as usual. Yours truly, M. Steele." I am sure no model letter-writer ever said as much in as few words. This little correspondence cleared the air for the time. No reference was made to it when I turned up as usual the next day; but from the way I worked, and the way she taught, it was evident we had both had a shake. My next relapse was even more serious. It came early in the spring, after our work had proceeded for about nine months.