JOHN. Ye ken fine ye'd no', wumman.
LIZZIE. John, thread my needle an' dinna take feyther's part against me.
JOHN (surprised). I'm no'.
LIZZIE. No, I ken ye're no meanin' to, but you men are that thrang—
(She is interrupted by a loud squall from DAVID, which he maintains, eyes shut, chair-arms gripped, and mouth open, for nearly half a minute, before he cuts it off abruptly and looks at the startled couple at the table.)
LIZZIE. Mercy, feyther, whit's wrang wi' ye?
DAVID (collectedly). There's naethin' wrang wi' me, Lizzie, except that I'm wantin' to tell wee Alexander a bit story—
LIZZIE (firmly but very kindly). But ye're no' goin' to—
(She breaks off in alarm as her father opens his mouth preparatory to another yell, which however he postpones to speak to JOHN.)
DAVID. Ye mind whit I was saying aboot the dispensation o'
Providence to help weans till they could try for theirselves,
John?