“You ought to be ashamed of yourself--always sneaking round! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” “Oh, I am, Pete,” she quavered, though, in fact, she wasn't sure in just what lay the shamefulness of her deed; till he'd spoken she had felt nothing but Romance in the air. “Well, you ought to be,” Pete reiterated. He hesitated a second, then went on: “You aren't going to blab it all around, are you?” “Oh, no!” breathed Missy, horrified at such a suggestion. “Well, see that you don't! I'll give you some candy to-morrow.” “Yes--candy,” came Polly's voice faintly from the divan. Then, as the subject seemed to be exhausted, Missy crept away, permeated with the sense of her sin. It was horrible! To have sinned just when she'd found the wonderful new feeling. Just when she'd resolved to be good always, that she might dwell in the house of the Lord forever. She hadn't intended to sin; but she must have been unusually iniquitous. Pete's face had told her that. 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. 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. By supper-time grandma agreed that she seemed well enough to go. Throughout the meal Pete, who was wearing an aloof and serious manner, refrained from looking at her, and she strived to keep her own anxious gaze away from him. He wasn't going to the meeting with the other three.