Were ever four wretched girls in such a predicament? It was a judgment
with a vengeance on their naughtiness. To be carried away by the steamer
and set down at such a remote place as Sandsend seemed an appalling
prospect, and they were quite aghast at the idea.

"Well, we have got ourselves into a scrape!" exclaimed Phoebe, as soon
as the purser was out of earshot.

"I was so sure it was the ferry-boat!" sighed poor Dora. "I feel as if I
were to blame for proposing it."

"It wasn't your fault more than anybody else's," said Myfanwy. "I
suppose we ought to have stopped to ask."

"We were in such a hurry!"

"How far is Sandsend from Birkwood?" asked Aldred.

"Six miles. It will take us a most fearfully long while to walk, and
it's four o'clock now."

"Oh, dear! We shan't get in till supper. What will Miss Drummond say?"

"There'll be a regular hue and cry after us."

"What will Blanche and Freda do?"

"I suppose they'll go back, when they can't find us, and report us as
missing. They wouldn't dare to stay in Chetbourne too long, and be late
for tea."

"We're having a free excursion on the steamer, at any rate," said
Aldred.

Dora appeared to think that a decidedly doubtful advantage. She was not
a good sailor, and the sea was rough now that they were outside the bay.
Phoebe, too, began to show signs of distress; and Myfanwy, usually so
rosy and talkative, had suddenly grown unwontedly pale and pensive.
Aldred was the only one who enjoyed the voyage; to the others it was the
reverse of pleasant, and they were much relieved when the vessel at last
arrived at Sandsend. They scurried across the gangway on to the quay
with almost undignified haste.

"Oh, it is nice to feel oneself on terra firma again!" ejaculated Dora.

"Or 'terra-cotta', as the old lady remarked!" laughed Aldred. "I'm
afraid you wouldn't appreciate a yachting cruise, Dora."

"I certainly shouldn't. Nothing would induce me to go. I should be lying
in my berth the whole time, in a state of utter collapse and misery. No
yachting for me, thank you!"

"We'd better ask somebody which is the right way," said Myfanwy. "We
don't want to make any more mistakes."

They found, on enquiry, that the high road ran inland over the downs,
and that, instead of it being only six miles to Birkwood, as Dora had
supposed, it was in reality nearer nine.

"The road twists, and goes round by Greenstaple," said the old sailor
who directed them. "It's only a