“How old are you?”
“I shall be fifteen long in the summer, a spell after Fourth of July.”
“You are very small. Are you quite sure?”
“Oh, yes. Why, you see, I was fourteen last summer. Jack was next to me. Then Bess. She was ’leven, but she hadn’t grown any ’cause she was hurted.”
“Hurt? How?” the nurse asked with interest. The children told their stories so simply.
“Along o’ father’s bein’ nawful drunk an’ slammin’ her agin the wall. He went to prison ’cause he most killed a man. Bess died just before Christmas. We was goin’—”
Dil paused. Would nurse know anything about a journey to heaven?
“Were you going to run away? But if the poor little girl was hurt, she is better off. God is taking care of her in heaven.”
“Oh, no. She isn’t there. She’s just dead. We was goin’ together in the spring, and—and some one was going with us who knew all ’bout the way.”
“My child, what do you know about heaven?” asked the nurse, struck by the confident tone.