_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--