I should make a beautiful Sunday-school teacher, I'm convinced." "There, now!" exclaimed the vicar, approvingly.
Austin was standing under an apple-tree, and over him stretched a horizontal branch laden with ripening fruit.

He raised his hands on either side of his head and clasped it, and then began swinging his wooden leg round and round in a way that bade fair to get on Aunt Charlotte's nerves.

He was so proud of that leg of his, while his aunt abhorred the very sight of it.
"No doubt they're all very charming boys, and I should love to tell them things," he went on.

"I think I'd begin with 'The Gods of Greece'-- Louis Dyer, you know--and then I'd read them a few carefully-selected passages from the 'Phaedrus.' Then, by way of something lighter, and more appropriate to their circumstances, I'd give them a course of Virgil--the 'Georgics', because, I suppose, most of them are connected with farming, and the 'Eclogues,' to initiate them into the poetical side of country life.

When once I'd brought out all their latent sense of the Beautiful--for I'm afraid it _is_ latent----" "But it's a _Sunday_-school!" interrupted the vicar, horrified.
"Virgil and the Phaedrus indeed! My dear boy, have you taken leave of your senses?
What in the world can you be thinking of ?" "Then what would you suggest ?" enquired Austin, mildly.
"You'd have to teach them the Bible and the Catechism, of course," said Mr Sheepshanks, with an air of slight bewilderment.
"H'm--that seems to me rather a limited curriculum," replied Austin, dubiously.