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—
LIZZIE. I wasna thinkin' o' yer deein', feyther—only—it's no guid for a bairn—
DAVID. Where's the harm in my giein' him a bit story before he gangs tae his bed?
LIZZIE. I'm no sayin' there's ony harm in it this yinst, feyther; but it's no richt to gae on nicht after nicht wi' never a break—