The four truants were very glad indeed of the hot baths and basins of bread and milk that were waiting for them. They did not equally appreciate doses of camphor, but did not dare to remonstrate, being only too thankful that Miss Drummond had forborne as yet to scold. The Principal's chief object was to get them to bed, and to ward off any risk of colds or rheumatism that might follow their many hours of exposure in wet clothes. Fortunately, her prompt measures had the desired effect, and no evil consequences ensued. The girls were allowed to sleep late the next morning, and when they arrived downstairs seemed quite free from all aches, pains, coughs, sneezes, and other suspicious symptoms. They were in dire disgrace, however, for now that Miss Drummond was reassured as to their health, she turned her attention to their conduct. "I'm most dreadfully sorry about it," said Mabel to Aldred that evening. "You see, Miss Drummond has always trusted us so entirely at the Grange, and this is the first time anybody has ever gone out of bounds. She says it shakes her confidence in us. I'm afraid she'll stop all exeats for the Lower School. Of course, I know it wasn't your fault. You're a new girl, and how could you tell we weren't allowed on the promenade? You only went where the others took you. You'd no idea you were breaking the rules, had you?" Aldred was brushing her teeth at the moment, therefore a grunt was her only means of reply. Mabel took it as the required denial. "I was sure you hadn't," she declared triumphantly. "A girl who can do such splendid things always lives up to them. It was a mean trick to play on Blanche and Freda, when they had invited you all for a walk, but I was certain you weren't capable of it. Naturally, you're ready to take your share of the scolding (I shouldn't have tried to get out of that myself); but I'm so glad that I, at any rate, know you don't really deserve it!" CHAPTER VII False Colours The thunderstorm that had added to the unpleasantness of the girls' adventure at Sandsend seemed to herald a complete change in the weather. The beautiful Indian summer, so warm and genial, so full of kindly sunshine, vanished suddenly, and autumn, cold and bleak, appeared in its place. A sharp frost in a single night worked havoc in the garden, blackening the dahlias, withering the nasturtiums, and reducing all the remaining annuals to a state of blighted ruin, so that what had one day been a flowery paradise was the next a scene of desolation. A strong easterly gale, following the frost, cleared the leaves from the trees before they had any chance of turning to crimson or gold, and stripped the last vestige of beauty from the hedgerows.