It was Saturday, and Father was at home.

We know now that it is very wrong and ungentlemanly to shovel snow off porticoes on to the Water Rates, or any other person, and we hope he did not catch a cold, and we are very sorry.

We apologized to the Water Rates when Father told us to.

We were all sent to bed for it.
We all deserved the punishment, because the others would have shovelled down snow just as we did if they'd thought of it--only they are not so quick at thinking of things as we are.

And even quite wrong things sometimes lead to adventures; as every one knows who has ever read about pirates or highwaymen.
Eliza hates us to be sent to bed early, because it means her having to bring meals up, and it means lighting the fire in Noel's room ever so much earlier than usual.