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