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. In the fervour
of the new religious feeling she craved sanctified surroundings.

So, though she didn't feel at all sick and though she wanted
desperately to make paper-flowers, she docilely let herself be put
to bed. Anyway, perhaps it was just a penance sent to her by our
Lord, to make atonement for her sin.