It was particularly horrible because sin had stolen
upon her so suddenly. Does sin always take you unawares, that way? A
new and black fear settled heavily over her.
When she finally returned to the porch with the paper-flowers box,
she was embarrassed by grandma's asking what had kept her so long.
It would have been easy to make up an excuse, but this new sense of
sin restrained her from lying. So she mumbled unintelligibly, till
grandma interrupted:
"Do you feel sick, Missy?" she asked anxiously.
"No, ma'am."
"Are you sure? You ate so much at dinner. Maybe you didn't take a
long enough nap."
"I'm not sleepy, grandma."
But grandma insisted on feeling her forehead--her hands. They were
hot.
"I think I'd better put you to bed for a little while," said
grandma. "You're feverish. And if you're not better by night, you
mustn't go to the meeting."
Missy's heart sank, weighted with a new fear. It would be an
unbearable calamity to miss going to the meeting. For, that night, a
series of "revivals" were to start at the Methodist Church; and,
though father was a Presbyterian (to oblige mother), grandpa and
grandma were Methodists and would go every night; and so long as
mother was away, she could go to meeting with them.
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