The Rise of Henry Morcar Read Free

There were sheep on the hills round Annotsfield. Harry made David his hero, admired Daniel, preferred Esau to his brother but supposed there must be something hidden in the story which he would understand when he grew up, to account for God’s preference for Jacob. For Samuel he felt little enthusiasm,but was suitably shocked by the spectacle of a High Priest whose sons robbed the people—it must have been terrible for a man in Eli’s position to have sons so completely lacking in respectability. Elijah was grand, so fiercely independent and somehow
Yorkshire;
it served Gehazi jolly well right to be turned into a leper and the ravens were splendid; Elisha in spite of the widow’s cruse seemed rather soft and disappointing. Towards the end of the class one grew a little tired and one’s attention wandered, for one was not a saintly boy who knew everything and won Sunday School prizes. On the other hand, one was not a bad boy who threw pellets and pulled the girls’ frocks from their gathers and was rude to the teacher when she read one’s name from the register. That would have been unkind, and Harry had no capacity for being unkind. Harry knew the Ten Commandments and (with a little prompting) the Beatitudes, and could recite the parables of the grain of mustard seed and the sower who went forth sowing, with reasonable accuracy, and furnish their explanations. A parable was an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. A miracle was—Harry was not quite sure what the teachers said a miracle was, but he knew a miracle when he saw one, perfectly. He believed in the miracles completely, of course, but found them a trifle irrelevant. What was clear was that one should be brave like David, honest like Eli, kind to children like Jesus; one should defend the right like Daniel and not tell lies (look at Ananias!) or heap up wealth (look at the rich man who died the same night). One should honour one’s father and mother, believe in God, love one’s neighbour and keep Sunday different from other days. God was one’s Father in heaven, and nobody could come between. Talents must not be buried but used; cleanliness was next to godliness; in the sweat of his brow man must eat his bread.
    When the lesson was over the children marched back into the big room and sang
There’s a Home for Little Children Above the Bright Blue Sky.
They were rather tired by now and sang in a sentimental yearning tone. Harry was not particularly anxious to seek a home above the bright blue sky, for he was perfectly satisfied with his home in Annotsfield, but it was nice to know such a home was there; it gave one a safe, well-provided-for sensation which was very cosy. One came out into the bright windy afternoon with a comfortable feeling that one had done one’s duty and that provided one continued to do it all would be well, probably in this world, certainly in the next.
    Looking back on it now, the world of his childhood seemed to Morcar completely safe; a strong smooth firm fabric without a single rent in it, a world without a crack, without the tiniest fissure.

3.
McKinley
    There had been a slight crack once, it seemed, but it was now smoothed over, a damage in the fabric which had been mended. This damage, the child Harry knew, had something to do with his birthday.
    â€œYou were born on a black day for the textile trade, love,” his grandfather sometimes said in a solemn monitory voice, shaking his head. “Aye, you were that!”
    Harry’s self-esteem was vexed by this attack on a matter so closely connected with him as his birthday, and one day he riposted sharply: “Well, it wasn’t my fault!” At this his grandfather laughed heartily, his father said: “The child’s right there!” and his mother, exclaiming: “For shame, Fred!” drew him to her knee and smoothed his hair. Finding his sally so well received, Harry thought the moment opportune for further