DAVID. Ye ken perfectly well. What is it ye're wantin' a' the time? JOHN. Different things. DAVID (_satisfied_). Aye--different things! But ye want them a', do ye no'? JOHN. Aye. DAVID. If ye had yer ain way ye'd hae them a', eh? JOHN. I wud that. DAVID (_triumphant_). Then is that no' what ye want: yer ain way? JOHN (_enlightened_). Losh! DAVID (_warming to it_). That's what life is, John--gettin' yer ain way. First ye're born, an' ye canna dae anything but cry; but God's given yer mither ears an' ye get yer way by just cryin' for it. (_Hastily, anticipating criticism_) I ken that's no exactly in keeping with what I've been saying aboot Alexander--but a new-born bairnie's an awfu' delicate thing, an' the Lord gets it past its infancy by a dispensation of Providence very unsettling to oor poor human understandings. Ye'll notice the weans cease gettin' their wey by juist greetin' for it as shin as they're old enough to seek it otherwise. JOHN. The habit hangs on to them whiles. DAVID. It does that. (_With a twinkle_) An' mebbe, if God's gi'en yer neighbors ears an' ye live close, ye'll get yer wey by a dispensation o' Providence a while longer. But there's things ye'll hae to do for yerself gin ye want to--an' ye will. Ye'll want to hold oot yer hand, an' ye will hold oot yer hand; an' ye 'll want to stand up and walk, and ye _will_ stand up and walk; an' ye'll want to dae as ye please, and ye _will_ dae as ye please; and then ye are practised an' lernt in the art of gettin' yer ain way--and ye're a man! JOHN. Man, feyther--ye're wonderful! DAVID (_complacently_). I'm a philosopher, John. But it goes on mebbe. JOHN. Aye? David. Aye: mebbe ye think ye'd like to make ither folk mind ye an' yer way, an' ye try, an' if it comes off ye're a big man an' mebbe the master o' a vessel wi' three men an' a boy under ye, as I was, John. (_Dropping into the minor_) An then ye come doon the hill. JOHN (_apprehensively_). Doon the hill? DAVID. Aye--doon to mebbe wantin' to tell a wean a bit story before he gangs tae his bed, an' ye canna dae even that. An' then a while more an' ye want to get to yer feet an' walk, and ye canna; an' a while more an' ye want to lift up yer hand, an' ye canna--an' in a while more ye're just forgotten an' done wi'. JOHN. Aw, feyther! DAVID. Dinna look sae troubled, John. I'm no' afraid to dee when my time comes. It's these hints that I'm done wi' before I'm dead that I dinna like. JOHN. What'n hints? DAVID. Well--Lizzie an' her richt's richt and wrang's wrang when I think o' tellin' wee Alexander a bit story before he gangs tae his bed. JOHN (_gently_). Ye are a wee thing persistent, feyther. DAVID. No, I'm no' persistent, John. I've gied in. I'm a philosopher, John, an' a philosopher kens when he's done wi'. JOHN. Aw, feyther!