Read Online A God and His Gifts by Ivy Compton-Burnett - Free Book Online

few?”
    â€œYou will know, if you think. I have heard you use the phrase. A small part of your books is read by them. It is they I should write for, and hope to reach; and feel I should in the end.”
    â€œâ€˜In this country and beyond it’,” said his father, as if to himself.
    â€œOh, you think it is too ambitious. To choose the better part, if that is what it is; and I admit I think it is. But it might be thought narrower than yours, and by some it would be. Our abilities are different, and must lead to a different end. It is not unreasonable to think it. But it is rather in the air at my age.”
    â€œIt is not only in the air. It is in your thought. And your age perplexes me. Sixteen is hardly childhood.”
    â€œYes, in this matter, Hereward,” said Zillah. “It is what it is.”
    â€œI wonder what fourteen is,” said Reuben. “I will not talk of it, in case someone tells me.”
    â€œAnything worth knowing is known by my age,” said Merton. “Sixteen may be the high mark of youth. After that there can be retrogression as well as progress.”
    â€œFather is deprived of words,” said Salomon.
    Hereward was silent, as this was the case.
    â€œSeventy-nine is not what it is,” said Joanna. “Or it would be old age.”
    â€œNeither is it,” said Sir Michael. “I feel as young as I ever did.”
    â€œI do not,” said Reuben. “I must begin to realise my age. I have to know all that is worth knowing in two years.”
    â€œChildhood does take us quickly onward,” said Zillah.
    â€œSo it does,” said Hereward, lightly. “We see where it has taken Merton. Beyond his father.”
    â€œThat is the idea that troubles you, Father? But there is nothing so unusual about it.”
    â€œNothing. It is its commonness that strikes me. I have seen the death of hope.”
    â€œYou have also seen its fulfilment. And met it yourself in a sense. Of course I don’t know what your original ambitions were.”
    â€œWe shall not say that of yours. And, as you have said, I am troubled by them. Both as a writer and a father. What are your hopes for the future, Reuben?”
    â€œI have none, Father, only fears. And one of them is that I may be an usher. It is one that does take the place of hopes.”
    â€œWhy do we say ‘usher’ and not ‘schoolmaster’?” said Sir Michael. “It has a disparaging sound.”
    â€œThat is the reason,” said his grandson. “We should hardly admit a note of respect.”
    â€œWhy not?” said Hereward. “Education has its purpose and serves it. I wish I had had more.”
    â€œYou would not have it,” said his father. “You said it would crush your creative gifts.”
    â€œYou can’t be an usher without it,” said Salomon. “So I suppose ushers’ gifts are always crushed. Before we have the advantage of them.”
    â€œI wonder we risk education,” said Reuben, “when you think where it might lead. You will all remember that my gifts have been crushed.”
    â€œThat does not happen so easily,” said Merton. “People are without them, because they have never had them. If they had, they would not be ushers. And the lack of talent in many writers is a part of themselves. Of course I am not talking about Father.”
    â€œWell, I suppose you are not,” said Sir Michael. “Why should you be?”
    â€œI wonder he was not,” said Hereward, smiling. “But I have a word to say of him. They are all to go to Oxford, when they reach the age. It is their mother’s wish, and therefore mine.”
    â€œYes, my word was the determining factor,” said Ada.“I brought in the ordinary strain. That is my accepted part. My sons cannot follow in their father’s steps. They must see him as widely removed from them, as my sister and I saw mine. They must have