_The old man's eyes are fixed appealingly on those of his daughter, who stands in the half-open door, her grasp on the handle, meeting his look squarely--a straight-browed, black-haired, determined young woman of six or seven and twenty. Her husband_, JOHN, _seated at the table in his shirt-sleeves with his head in his hands, reads hard at the paper and tries to look unconcerned._ DAVID. Aw--but, Lizzie-- LIZZIE (_with splendid firmness_). It's nae use, feyther. I'm no' gaein' to gie in to the wean. Ye've been tellin' yer stories to him nicht after nicht for dear knows how long, and he's gettin' to expect them. DAVID. Why should he no' expect them? LIZZIE. It disna do for weans to count on things so. He's layin' up a sad disappointment for himself yin o' these days. DAVID. He's gettin' a sad disappointment the noo. Och, come on, Lizzie. I'm no' gaein' to dee just yet, an' ye can break him off gradually when I begin to look like to. LIZZIE. Who's talkin' o' yer deein', feyther? DAVID. Ye were speakin' o' the disappointment he was layin' up for himself if he got to count on me-- LIZZIE. I wasna thinkin' o' yer deein', feyther--only--it's no guid for a bairn-- DAVID. Where's the harm in my giein' him a bit story before he gangs tae his bed? LIZZIE. I'm no sayin' there's ony harm in it this yinst, feyther; but it's no richt to gae on nicht after nicht wi' never a break-- DAVID. Whit wey is it no richt if there's nae harm in it? LIZZIE. It's giein' in to the wean. DAVID. Whit wey should ye no' gie in to him if there's nae harm in it? LIZZIE (_keeping her patience with difficulty_). Because it gets him into the habit. 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--