Free A God and His Gifts by Ivy Compton-Burnett

for the world outside, and forgetting the one you live in. Like father, like son, I suppose. Well, we must not find fault with it.”
    â€œI fear I must,” said Hereward. “Though I may not seem the person to do it. I am troubled for Merton’s future. The likeness between us is not so great. It should have a better basis than these early efforts and hopes.”
    â€œWhat basis did you have for your own, Father?”
    â€œThat of a stronger brain and greater creative force,” said Hereward, in an almost ruthless tone. “I will say the truth, as you do. It is time it was said. We are right not to be afraid of it.”
    â€œBut just afraid enough,” murmured Salomon.
    â€œI am terrified,” murmured Reuben.
    â€œI am untouched,” said their brother. “If it is the truth to you, you are right to say it, Father. It is the honest thing. Indeed I admire your courage.”
    â€œI admire Merton’s,” said Salomon.
    â€œBut I have no fear. There are different kinds of brain. The one that is known as powerful, may not be the best.”
    â€œYou would not like to have written my books?” said Hereward, meeting his eyes.
    â€œWell, to be as honest as you are, Father. I should not.”
    â€œWe are told not to be afraid of the truth,” said Joanna. “But no one is.”
    â€œNo one who speaks it,” said Reuben. “Everyone else.”
    â€œThe people who speak it can be the most afraid,” said Hereward. “But at times it must be said.”
    â€œThere is nothing in Merton’s feeling,” said Zillah.
    â€œNo writer goes the whole length with any other. Eachof them shivers at the lapses of the rest, and is blind to his own. And the youngest shiver the most. And the greatest writers have them.”
    â€œAnd I daresay the smaller ones too,” said Sir Michael. “And a boy who would not like to have written a mature man’s books, is a queer example of one to my mind. Why, I should like to have written them myself. I should be proud to have written a word. And he can think what he likes of it.”
    â€œI think it is quite reasonable, Grandpa.”
    â€œThe less we can do a thing ourselves, the more we should appreciate it in other people. To fail is to grudge someone else the better place. We should be ashamed of it.”
    â€œGrandpa need not be ashamed,” said Reuben. “He tells us about it.”
    â€œWell, I need not either,” said Merton. “I simply want to write for a body of readers neglected because it is small. It is not an unworthy ambition.”
    â€œI am sure it is not,” said Joanna. “An ambition would not be. Nothing can be said against ambitions. They are worthier than anything I know.”
    â€œNot unworthy on its narrow scale,” said Sir Michael. “But there is something more generous about serving the larger body. It commands more sympathy.”
    â€œIt is true that it does,” said Merton.
    â€œI can’t think a son of mine would go far along either road,” said Ada. “There is too much of myself in them. My father’s gifts are of another kind, but they too have passed them over.”
    â€œIt is a habit of gifts,” said Salomon.
    â€œBut broken in Merton’s case,” said Reuben.
    â€œNot by the second kind,” said their brother. “I lay no claim to that. The two kinds of gifts are wide apart, and the gulf is seldom crossed.”
    â€œWell, it need not concern us,” said his mother. “For us the gulf may be all there is.”
    â€œWell, that may be true,” said Sir Michael, laughing.“Gifts must be rare, of course. But to have a father and a grandfather endowed like theirs is a unique position. Ah, they have a fine heritage. Something ought to come of it.”
    â€œMerton has come,” murmured Reuben.
    â€œStill we can’t choose the kind of people we are to