Mrs Wren was a good old soul, who spent one half of her time looking over her spectacles, and the other half under them, for something she never found.

We big boys--for twelve is a good age for a dame's grammar-school--we didn't exactly get on at old Jenny Wren's, as she was called.

For we gradually discovered we knew almost as much as she did herself, and it dawned on us by degrees that somehow she didn't know how to keep us in order.

The consequence was, one or two boys, especially Jimmy Bates, the parish clerk's son, and Joe Bobbins, the Italian oil and colourman's son, didn't behave very well.

I was sorry to see it, and always told them so.
They got us other boys into all sorts of scrapes and trouble.