Sleep!
She places her cool palm, for a moment, upon your forehead.
“I don’t think that you’ve got much fever, after all,” she hazards. “But lie still.”
Out of policy you strive to obey for a while longer, but every muscle in your eager body rebels. You twist and toss; you stick up one knee, and then the other, and then both at once; and finally a leg dangles to the floor over the outer edge of your unhappy bed.
“I want to get up. I feel lots better,” you whine.
“No,” rebukes mother, firmly. “Papa said that you were to keep quiet.”
“But I will be quiet,” you promise.
“W-well, only you must not go outdoors,” she warns.
However, anything to be released from that narrow sofa; so off you roll, and apply yourself further to the delicate business of gaining health not too rapidly, yet conveniently.
It appears, however, that, according to some occult line of reasoning, “a boy who is not well enough to do his chores or go to school is not well enough to play”! The more vigorous you grow, the more this maxim is rubbed into you.