Elders and Betters by Ivy Compton-Burnett Page A

not jewels or money or anything recognised as theft.”
    â€œA sixpence would be thought to be money.”
    â€œBut it is not gold or notes or anything that counts to a god.”
    But the steps of the pair faltered, and they turned with one accord back to the rock.
    â€œO great and good and powerful god, Chung,” said Dora, as they fell on their knees, “forgive us any sins that go beyond the weakness of youth. Pardon any faults that are grievous in thy sight, for temptation lies in wait. For Sung Li’s sake, amen.”
    â€œTemptation does beset us,” said Julius, gaining his feet.
    â€œIt is a pity that so much of the pleasure of life depends on sin,” said his sister. “We could not be expected to live quite without joy. No god of childhood would wish it.”
    â€œO powerful god, Chung,” said Julius, in a rapid gabble, turning and inclining his knee, “be merciful to any weakness that approaches real transgression. For Sung Li’s sake, amen.”
    Dora repeated the last words and made a perfunctory but sincere obeisance, and the pair walked away rather quickly, as if to guard against any impulse to return.
    â€œI wonder what revealed to us that there was a god dwelling in that rock,” said Julius.
    â€œWell, a god would have a temple somewhere. And there would be gods dwelling in the wild rocks and in the hidden places.”
    â€œYes, of course there would. I wonder if it was fitting to name our gods out of a book that we …”
    â€œPurloined,” said Dora, going into laughter; and the pair rolled along in mirth.
    â€œIt was only part of a book,” she said; “and we did not take the real names, only made up some that were like them. And a name with a Chinese sound is more reverent than an English one.”
    â€œWe could not call a god John or Thomas,” said her brother, seeking further cause for mirth.
    â€œOr Judas,” said Dora, supplying it.
    Julius was a red-haired, round-faced boy of eleven, with large, honest, greenish eyes and ordinary features grouped into an appealing whole. Dora was as like him as was compatible with a greater share of looks, the opposite sex and a year less in age. They both looked sound in body and mind, but a little aloof and mature for their years, as if they steered their own way through a heedless world. A nurse was regarded as a needless expense in their rather haphazard and straitened home; and the housemaid looked after them, and a daily governess taught them, so that their spare time was uncontrolled. It was held that their amusement was their own affair, and confidence on the point was not misplaced, as their pastimes included not only pleasure, but religion, literature and crime. They wrote moral poems that deeply moved them, pilfered coins for the purchase of forbidden goods, and prayed in good faith to the accepted god and their own, perhaps with a feeling that a double share of absolution would not come amiss. As they staggered along in mirth, they forgot its cause, and maintained it from a sense that mirth was a congenial thing.
    Their mother came out of some bushes and approached them. “What is the joke?” she said with a smile.
    â€œWe were having a comic dance round our Chinese temple,” said Dora, with an instinct to suppress the god.
    â€œI saw you kneeling in front of that rock. That is the temple, is it?”
    â€œYes, we had to sacrifice to our priest,” said Dora, speaking as though the game were real to her.
    â€œHe takes his share of burnt offerings,” said Julius in the same tone.
    â€œDoes he live in the rock?” said Mrs. Calderon.
    â€œYes, it is his temple,” said Dora, with a faint note of impatience, as if at her mother’s inattention.
    â€œAnd what do you sacrifice to him?”
    â€œFlowers and grasses and acorns and things,” said Julius.
    â€œI don’t see any of them there.”
    â€œNo, if we put