Alice—Oh, I see! A grandmother! We do call ours Gram. She likes it. You don’t make her mind, do you?
Ecila—Of course. (calls.) Marg! Marg! Where in Topsy Turvydom is she? Mom, go find her.
Derf—I’ll find her. (goes out.)
Knarf—Do you mind your father, truly?
Frank—Of course. I have to.
Knarf—Don’t you like to? Then what makes you?
Frank—He does. No. I don’t always like to, but I like it better than I should treating him that way.
Knarf—How funny. (Derf comes in, pulling Marg behind him. She holds back and struggles, but he pulls her along.)
Derf—Her was a playin’ blocks, and her wouldn’t come. Her’s a naughty, naughty Marg. Two, fee, for Fiday.
Ecila—Naughty Marg! She must come when Ecila calls her. Come here. (Marg hangs back, and Ecila picks her up, shakes her a bit, then puts her down. Marg sinks down in a heap, crying loudly.)