g of yours quiet, if you can. You
are fidgeting me out of my wits."

Mr Sheepshanks, his mouth pursed up in a deprecating and uneasy smile,
sat gazing vaguely in front of him. "I think it might be wise to defer
the Song of Solomon," he suggested. "A few simple stories from the
Book of Genesis, perhaps, would be better suited to the minds of your
young pupils. And then the sublime opening chapters----"

"Oh, dear Mr Sheepshanks! Those stories in Genesis are some of them
too _risques_ altogether," protested Austin. "One must draw the line
somewhere, you see. We should be sure to come upon something improper,
and just think how I should blush. Really, you can't expect me to read
such things to boys actually younger than myself, and probably be
asked to explain them into the bargain. There's the Creation part,
it's true, but surely when one considers how occult all that is one
wants to be familiar with the Kabbala and all sorts of mystical works
to discover the hidden meaning. Now I should propose 'The Art of
Creation'--do you know it? It shows that the only possible creator is
Thought, and explains how everything exists in idea before it takes
tangible shape. This applies to the universe at large, as well as to
everything we make ourselves. I'd tell the boys that whenever they
_think_, they are really _creating_, so that----"

"I should vastly like to know where you pick up all these
extraordinary notions!" interrupted the vicar, who could not for the
life of him make out whether Austin was in jest or earnest. "They're
most dangerous notions, let me tell you, and entirely opposed to sound
orthodox Church teaching. It's clear to me that your reading wants to
be supervised, Austin, by some judicious friend. There's an excellent
little work I got a few days ago that I think you would like to see.
It's called 'The Mission-field in Africa.' There you'll find a most
remarkable account of all those heathen superstitions----"

"Where is Africa?" asked Austin, munching a leaf.

"There!" exclaimed Aunt Charlotte. "That's Austin all over. He'll talk
by the hour together about a lot of outlandish nonsense that no
sensible person ever heard of, and all the time he doesn't even know
where Africa is upon the map. What is to be done with such a boy?"

"Well, I think we'll postpone the question of his teaching in the
Sunday-school, at all events," remarked the vicar, who began to feel
rather sorry that he had ever suggested it. "It's