What makes you think you’re goin’ to Heaven? THE LADY. Well—I think so because—well—because I’ve always tried to do right—no, no—I didn’t mean that exactly. Of course I’ve done millions of wrong things—but I mean— Oh, Hattie dear, Heaven is such a vague term! All we know is that it is a beautiful place where we’ll be happy, and that we’re going there. THE GIRL. How do you know we’re goin’? THE LADY. I don’t know. I believe. THE GIRL. But how do you know the wrong things you done won’t keep you out? THE LADY. Now I’m afraid you’re exciting yourself— THE GIRL. Oh, Lord, cut that out! I’m excited, all right, all right! Guess you’d be if you had the thoughts I got goin’ ’round in your head all the time—but there’s no sense talkin’ them out. Nobody can’t do nothin’ for me now! THE LADY. Oh, you mustn’t say that! THE GIRL. Well, can ye? THE LADY. I’ll try, if you will tell me what is troubling you. THE GIRL. Oh, Gawd! She wants to know what’s troublin’ me, she does! THE LADY. Can’t you tell me? Perhaps I could help you. THE GIRL. You said you done wrong things. What was they? THE LADY. I—I don’t know exactly. THE GIRL. You don’t know? THE LADY. Why, I suppose I could think of lots of things, but— THE GIRL. She could “think of lots o’ things”! Has to stop to remember. Oh, gee! Guess she’ll get in. THE LADY. Oh, please don’t laugh like that! Listen! Whatever you have done, no matter how dreadful, if you are sorry it will be all right. Don’t be afraid. THE GIRL. Is that true? THE LADY. Yes. THE GIRL. I don’t believe it. THE LADY. It is true, nevertheless. THE GIRL. Well, if you ain’t sorry? THE LADY. But surely you are—you must be! THE GIRL. No, I ain’t. It was better dead. THE LADY. What do you mean? THE GIRL. I tell ye, it was better to be dead. Say, Lady—in them wrong things you done you can’t remember did ye—did ye ever kill a kid that hadn’t hardly breathed? Say, did ye—did ye? THE LADY. Oh, oh! What shall I do? Hattie! Hattie! Try and stop crying. I’m so grieved for you. Tell me what you wish—only don’t cry so! THE GIRL. I ain’t sorry. THE LADY. No, no, never mind that. Tell me if you want to, tell me—about it. THE GIRL. An’ I ain’t sorry for what cum first—him—it was all I ever had that time, that little, weeny time! THE LADY. Wait a moment—wouldn’t you rather have a clergyman? THE GIRL. No! There’s one comes ’round here. I don’ want to tell him nothin’. THE LADY. Very well—go on. THE GIRL. It was so little, and it squawked! It squawked awful! THE LADY. Oh don’t! THE GIRL. You don’t want me to tell ye? THE LADY. Yes, yes. THE GIRL. Oh, what’s the use? What’s the use? You can’t do nothin’. Nobody kin. I ain’t sorry! The kid’s better dead, lots better. It’s what cum after. I’m so dirty! I’m so dirty! I’ll never get clean! Oh, what’s gona happen when I die? What’s gona happen? An’ I gotta die soon! THE LADY.