ointed fine. (_Pondering_) D' ye ken whit I'm thinkin',
John?

JOHN. Whit?

DAVID. I'm thinkin' he's too young to get his ain way, an' I'm
too auld, an' it's a fine thocht!

JOHN. Aye?

DAVID. Aye. I never thocht of it before, but that's what it is.
He's no' come to it yet, an' I'm past it. (_Suddenly_) What's the
most important thing in life, John?

(JOHN _opens his mouth--and shuts it again unused._)

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