. Aye?

DAVID. Och, aye. They're that unreasonable, an' yet ye canna
reason them down; an' they're that weak, an' yet ye canna make
them gie in tae ye. Of course, ye'll say ye canna reason doon a
stane, or make a clod o' earth gie in tae ye.

JOHN. Will I?

DAVID. Aye. An' ye'll be richt. But then I'll tell ye a stane
will na answer ye back, an' a clod of earth will na try to
withstand ye, so how can ye argue them down?

JOHN (_convinced_). Ye canna.

DAVID. Richt! Ye canna! But a wumman _will_ answer ye back, an'
she _will_ stand against ye, an' _yet_ ye canna argue her down
though ye have strength an' reason on your side an' she's talkin'
naething but blether about richt's richt an' wrang's wrang, an'
sendin' a poor bairn off t' his bed i' the yin room an' leavin'
her auld feyther all alone by the fire in anither an'--ye
ken--Philosophy--

(_He ceases to speak and wipes his glasses again. JOHN, intensely
troubled, tiptoes up to the door and opens it a foot. The wails
of ALEXANDER can be heard muffled by a farther door. JOHN calls
off._)

JOHN. Lizzie.

(_Lizzie immediately comes into sight outside the door with a
"Shsh."_)

JOHN. Yer feyther's greetin'.

LIZZIE (_with a touch of exasperation_). Och, I'm no heedin'!
There's another wean in there greetin' too, an' I'm no heedin'
him neither, an' he's greetin' twicet as loud as the auld yin.

JOHN (_shocked_). Ye're heartless, wumman.

LIZZIE (_with patience_). No, I'm no' heartless, John; but there's
too much heart in this family, an' someone's got to use their
heid.

(DAVID _cranes round the side of his chair to catch what they
are saying. She stops and comes to him kindly but with womanly
firmness._)

LIZZIE. I'm vexed ye should be disappointed, feyther, but ye see,
don't ye--

(_A singularly piercing wail from ALEXANDER goes up. LIZZIE rushes
to silence him._)

LIZZIE. Mercy! The neighbors will think we're murderin' him.

(_The door closes behind her._)

DAVID (_nodding for a space as he revolves the woman's attitude_).
Ye hear that, John?

JOHN. Whit?

DAVID (_with quiet irony_). She's vexed I should be disappointed.
The wumman thinks she's richt! Women always think they're
richt--mebbe it's that that makes them that obstinate. (_With the
ghost of a twinkle_) She's feart o' the neighbors, though.

JOHN (_stolidly_). A' women are feart o' the neighbors.

DAVID (_reverting_). Puir wee man. I telt ye he was greetin', John.
He's disapp