DAVID.  But why should he no’ get into the habit if there’s nae harm in it?

(John at the table chuckles.  Lizzie gives him a look, but he meets it not.)

LIZZIE.  Really, feyther, ye micht be a wean yerself, ye’re that persistent.

DAVID.  No, Lizzie, I’m no’ persistent, I’m reasoning wi’ ye.  Ye said there was nae harm in my tellin’ him a bit story, an’ now ye say I’m not to because it’ll get him into the habit; an’ what I’m askin’ ye is, where’s the harm o’ his gettin’ into the habit if there’s nae harm in it?

LIZZIE.  Oh, aye; ye can be gey clever, twistin’ the words in my mouth, feyther; but richt is richt, an’ wrang’s wrang, for all yer cleverness.

DAVID (earnestly).  I’m no bein’ clever ava, Lizzie,—­no’ the noo,—­I’m just tryin’ to make ye see that, if ye admit there’s nae harm in a thing, ye canna say there’s ony harm in it, an’ (pathetically) I’m wantin’ to tell wee Alexander a bit story before he gangs to his bed.

JOHN (aside to her).  Och, wumman—­

LIZZIE.  T’ts, John; ye’d gie in tae onybody if they were just persistent enough.

JOHN.  He’s an auld man.

LIZZIE (really exasperated).  I ken fine he’s an auld man, John, and ye’re a young yin, an’ Alexander’s gaein’ to be anither, an’ I’m a lone wumman among the lot o’ ye, but I’m no’ gaein’ to gie in to—­

JOHN (bringing a fresh mind to bear upon the argument).  Efter a’, Lizzie, there’s nae harm—­

LIZZIE (almost with a scream of anger).  Och, now you’ve stairted, have you?  Harm.  Harm.  Harm.  You’re talkin’ about harm, and I’m talking about richt an’ wrang.  You’d see your son grow up a drunken keelie, an’ mebbe a thief an’ a murderer, so long as you could say there was nae harm in it.

DAVID (expostulating with some cause).  But I cudna say there was nae harm in that, Lizzie, an’ I wudna.  Only when there’s nae harm—­

LIZZIE.  Och. (Exits, calling off to the cause of the trouble.) Are ye in yer bed yet, Alexander?

(Shuts door with a click.)

DAVID (standing on hearth-rug and shaking his head more in sorrow than in anger).  She’s no reasonable, ye ken, John; she disna argue fair.  I’m no complaining o’ her mither, but it’s a wee thing hard that the only twa women I’ve known to be really chatty an’ argumentative with should ha’ been just like that.  An’ me that fond o’ women’s society.

(He lowers himself into his chair.)

JOHN.  They’re all like it.

DAVID (judiciously).  I wudna go sae far as to say that, John.  Ye see, I’ve only kent they twa to study carefully—­an’ it’s no fair to judge the whole sex by just the twa examples, an’ it were—­(Running on) But it’s gey hard, an’ I was wantin’ to tell wee Alexander a special fine story the nicht. (Removes glasses and blinks his eyes.) Aweel.