The Diary of a Saint

by Arlo Bates

For the instant I thought that she was right, and it was dreadful to hear her.

"I shall die and go to hell!" she cried. "Oh, pray! Pray!"

I caught at my scattered wits and tried to soothe her. She clung to me as if she were in the greatest physical terror.

"I am dying!" she kept repeating. "Oh, can't you do something for me? Can't you save me? Oh, I can't die! I can't die!"

She was so wild that her screams awakened Mrs. Bagley, who came running in half dressed, as she had lain down for the night.

"Lawk-a-marcy, child," she said, coming up to the bed, "if you was dying do you think you'd have strength to holler like that?"

The rough question had more effect than my efforts to calm the girl. She sank back on the pillow, sobbing, and staring at Mrs. Bagley.

"I ain't got no strength," she insisted. "I know I'm goin' to die right away."

"Nonsense, Jule," was Mrs. Bagley's response. "I know when folks is dyin', I guess. I've seen enough of 'um. You're all right if you'll stop actin' like a blame fool."