THE GIRL. Soon? THE DOCTOR. Yes. THE GIRL. How soon? Tomorrow? THE DOCTOR. No, not tomorrow. Perhaps in a month, perhaps longer. THE GIRL. Will I get sorry ’fore I go? THE DOCTOR. How can I tell? But what does it matter? Why do you want to be sorry especially? What good would it do? It is all passed, isn’t it? Nothing can change that. THE GIRL. But I gotta be—to get in. THE DOCTOR. You seem very sure on that point. THE GIRL. But everybody says I gotta be. THE DOCTOR. What is the use saying it or thinking it when nobody knows? THE GIRL. What you sayin’? THE DOCTOR. You and I can believe differently if we want to. But why in the world should you be asking me all these hard questions? I’ve never been to heaven, have I? I don’t know whether you have to be sorry to get in or not. How do you suppose they found all that out? THE GIRL. But ain’t I gotta be punished somewhere till I git sorry? THE DOCTOR. Do you remember the other night when the pain was so bad? THE GIRL. Yep. THE DOCTOR. And I told you you would have to bear it, that I could do nothing for you, and that you must be quiet, not to disturb the others? THE GIRL. Oh, don’t I remember! THE DOCTOR. I guess that’s about enough punishment for one little girl. You’ve been pretty unhappy lately, haven’t you, with the pain and the terrible thoughts? I think it’s about time something else turned up for you that would be nicer, don’t you? THE GIRL. Turned up? THE DOCTOR. Yes, something that would make up for all this. Do you know, child, as I’ve gone through these wards day after day ’tending to all you sick folks I’ve about come to the conclusion that there must be—something nicer— THE GIRL. Tell me more about it. THE DOCTOR. Well, now—there’s another queer question. Didn’t I tell you I don’t know anything to tell? I’ve never been there. I should think you would have found out a little something, since you’re planning to go so soon. But no, I don’t suppose you know much more than the rest of us. And when you get there you will probably forget all about me and how much I’d like to know what’s happening to my little patient. No use, I suppose, asking you to tie a red string on your finger and say, “That’s to send Dr. Carroll a little message.” Is there any way, do you think you could remember? THE GIRL. You’re kiddin’ me! THE DOCTOR. Indeed I am not. I long to know with all my heart, and I suppose it will be years and years before I do. Why, just think, you—you, are going to have a great adventure. You are going on a journey to a far country where you’ll find out lots of things, and here am I, jogging along up and down, to and fro, between my office and this hospital, and wondering and wondering and wondering! What a lucky little girl you are! THE GIRL. And I don’t have to be sorry—to git in? THE DOCTOR.