Manila stood up. “Where is Heaven?” she asked hopefully, as one who is of a mind to set off forthwith.
“Where? Well, I don’t know exactly. That’s one thing I forgot to ask Uncle John.”
Manila’s face fell. And her eyes, roving, lit upon the nearby globe. She pointed. “Can’t y’ find it on the world?” she suggested.
“On that?” cried Phœbe.
“Look for it!”
Phœbe gave Manila’s arm a soothing pat. Then with a shake of the head, “Poor little girl, don’t you know that Heaven isn’t on the globe? And I’ve never even seen it in the movies.”
Manila sat down.
“I know what’s inside,” confided Phœbe. “That’s the bad place, where we go if we kill anybody, and if we tell lies. It’s awful hot there, Uncle John says, and we burn and burn. Oh, Uncle John knows everything religious.”
There was something about all this that made Manila’s courage sink, for once more she fell to weeping.
“Manila!” pleaded Phœbe. “Everybody says that Heaven is—look!” She pointed ceiling-ward.