“There he is again! He's come for me! Oh—I'm—a—gon' ta—die! An' I'm afrrrr-aid!”
Cherry clutched at Marilyn's arm, and looked up with far off gaze in which terror seemed frozen.
The minister's daughter leaned farther over and gathered the fragile form of the sick girl in her arms tenderly, speaking in a soothing voice:
“Listen Cherry. Don't be afraid. Jesus is here. He'll go with you!”
“But I'm afraid of Jesus!” the sharp little voice pierced out with a shudder, “I haven't been—good!”
“Then tell Him you are sorry. You are sorry, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes!” the weak voice moaned. “I—never—meant—no—harm! I only—wanted—a little—good time—!”
The eyes had closed again and she was almost gone. The doctor had come in and he now gave her another spoonful of medicine. Marilyn knew the time was short.
“Listen, Cherry, say these words after me!” Cherry's eyes opened again and fastened on her face, eagerly:
“Jesus, I'm sorry—!”