Ansel Head’s brief recess from a formal religious education came when his parents left Canterbury Methodist. Had his grandmother, from her high station at Hill-Leigh, failed to vanquish forever the collarless tweed jacket, ruffled shirt, hideous short pants, knee socks, and highly polished Buster Brown tie-ups, Head would have faced any resumption of his Sunday courses with fear and trepidation. But now, sporting long pants and a collared shirt, he met the prospects of returning to a formal Sunday syllabus secure in his deliverance.
In the Tiny Kingdom, idle children left free to roam outdoors on Sunday mornings were soon noticed. Continue reading







Watching his friend Ansel Larry die was a hard lesson. But even for the uninterested Head, an education in death was a required course for his education. In a short span, he had been forced to study at close hand his brother’s death, his mother’s deteriorating health, his own knee replacement, and then his friend’s departure. Things were getting too near to Head for him to disregard the subject any longer.