The Lassie (to Girl). Shall I?
The Girl. No—they won’t let ye. It ’ud make a noise.
The Lady. Sing it low.
The Lassie. (In a sing-song voice—swaying, half chanting, half speaking:) “Shall we gather at the river—the beautiful, the beautiful river, etc.”
The Girl (after trying to listen for a stanza or two). Oh cut it out! I don’ want ye to sing to me—I want ye to tell me what’s gona happen. Oh, don’ nobody know? I’m so afraid—so ’fraid! (As her voice rises the nurse, who has, unobserved, looked in during the singing, enters with the doctor. He bows slightly to the Lady and the Lassie, then goes quickly to the girl, putting his hand on her forehead.)
The Doctor. Why child—what troubles you?
The Girl (clinging to his hand). Doctor! Everybody says I got to be sorry to get in. I aint sorry, an’ I’m ’fraid, I’m ’fraid.
The Doctor. To get in where?
The Girl. Heaven, where you’ll be happy.
The Doctor. That is very interesting, how do you suppose they found that out? How do they know, I mean?