“What is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear?” I asked.

“School.  Near London,” was Peggotty’s answer.

“When, Peggotty?”

“To-morrow.”

“Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my drawers?”

“Yes,” said Peggotty.  “Box.”

“Shan’t I see mama?”

“Yes,” said Peggotty.  “Morning.”

Then followed some assurances of affection, which Peggotty sobbed through the keyhole, and from that night I had an affection for her greater than for any one, except my mother.

In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared and told me what I already knew, and said that I was to come down into the parlour, and have my breakfast.  My mother was there, very pale, and with red eyes, into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my suffering soul.

“Oh, Davy,” she said.  “That you could hurt any one I love!  Try to be better, pray to be better!  I forgive you, but I am so grieved, Davy, that you should have such bad passions in your heart!”

They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more sorry for that, than for my going away.  I felt it sorely.  I tried to eat, but tears dropped upon my bread-and-butter, and trickled into my tea, and I could not swallow.

Presently the carrier was at the door, my box was in the cart, and before I could realise it, my mother was holding me in a farewell embrace, and then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse started off.

About half a mile away from home the carrier stopped, and Peggotty burst from a hedge and climbed into the cart.  She squeezed me until I could scarcely speak, and crammed some bags of cakes into my pockets, and a purse into my hand, but not a word did she speak.  Then with a final hug, she climbed down and ran away again, and we started on once more.

Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to think it was of no use crying any more.  The carrier agreed with me, and proposed that my pocket handkerchief should be spread upon the horse’s back to dry, to which I assented, and then turned my attention to the purse.  It had three bright shillings in it, which Peggotty had evidently polished up with whitening,—­but more precious yet,—­were two half-crowns in a bit of paper on which my mother had written, “For Davy.  With my love.”

I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me my pocket handkerchief again, but he thought I had better do without it, so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stopped myself—­and on we jogged.

At Yarmouth we drove to the inn-yard, where I dismounted, and was given dinner, after which I mounted the coach for London, and at three o’clock we started off on a trip which was not unpleasant to me, with its many novel sights and experiences.  In London, at an inn in Whitechapel, I was met by a Mr. Mell, one of the teachers at Salem House, the school to which I was going.  We journeyed on together, and by the next day were at Salem House, which was a square brick building with wings, enclosed with a high brick wall.  I was astonished at the perfect quiet there, until Mr. Mell told me that the boys were at their homes on account of it being holiday-time, and that even the proprietor was away.  And he added that I was sent in vacation as a punishment for my misdoing.