THE LADY. No, no, never mind that. Tell me if you want to, tell me—about it. THE GIRL. An’ I aint 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 aint 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. You mustn’t feel so, you mustn’t! God is kind and good and merciful. He will forgive you—Ask Him to! THE GIRL. I did ask Him to—lots o’ times. It don’ do no good. I aint sorry! Everybody says you gotta feel sorry, an’ I aint. A girl kid’s better dead, I tell ye! That’s why I done it. I loved it, ’fore it came, ’cause it was hisn. After I done it nothin’ mattered—nothin’! So I—And I gotta die soon—what’s gona happen? (During the preceding the sound of a tambourine and singing has been heard outside. As the girl cries out the last words, the Lady, finding no answer, goes to the window. She has a sudden thought.) THE LADY. I’ll be back in a moment! (She goes out.) (Nothing is heard but the girl’s sobs for a moment. Then the Lady ushers in a Salvation Army Lassie—her tambourine held tightly, but jingling a little. She stands embarrassed by the foot of the bed. The Girl stares at her.) THE GIRL. I know them kind too. THE LASSIE. Can’t I do something for you? THE GIRL. No—not now—You’re a good sort enough—but—I aint sorry—I tell ye—I aint, I aint! THE LASSIE (to Lady). What d’ye want me for? What’ll I do? THE LADY. Couldn’t you sing something brave and cheerful? You were singing so nicely out there. 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.