"Please don't die, Mary Cary, please don't die!" she kept saying over and over, and when they tried to make her go in she bawled worse than ever. I tried to wave my hand.
"I'm not going to die, I'm coming back," I said, and that's all I remember.
I knew they put me in something and drove off, and then I was in a little white bed in a big room with a lot of other little beds in it; and after that I didn't know I was living for three weeks. But I talked just the same. They told me I made speeches by the hour, and read books out loud, and recited poems that had never been printed. But when I stopped and lay like the dead, just breathing, the girls say they heard there were no hopes, and a lot of them just cried and cried. It was awful nice of them, and if they hadn't cut my hair off I would have made a real pretty corpse.
The day I first saw Miss Katherine really good she was standing by my bed, holding my wrist in one hand and her watch in another, and I thought she was an angel and I was in heaven. She was in white, and I took her little white cap for a crown, and I said:
"Are you my Mother?"
She nodded and smiled, but she didn't speak, and I asked again:
"Are you my Mother?"
"Your right-now Mother," she said, and she smiled so delicious I thought of course I was in heaven, and I spoke once more.
"Where's God?"
Then she stooped down and kissed me.