unworldly a man as any in the county, considered himself unusually shrewd in business matters; and Aunt Charlotte, like many middle-aged ladies in her position, found it a great comfort to have a gentleman at her beck and call with whom she could talk confidentially about her investments, and who could be relied upon to give her much disinterested advice that he often acted on himself.  On this particular afternoon the vicar hinted that he had something of special importance to communicate, and Aunt Charlotte was unusually gracious.  He was a short gentleman, with a sloping forehead, a prominent nose, a clean-shaven, High-Church face, narrow, dogmatic views, and small, twinkling eyes; not the sort of person whom one would naturally associate with financial acumen, but endowed with an air of self-confidence, and a pretension to private information, which would have done credit to any stockbroker on ’Change.

“I’ve been thinking over that little matter of yours that you mentioned to me the other day,” he began, when he had finished his third cup, and Austin had strolled away.  “You say your mortgage at Southport has just been paid off, and you want a new investment for your money.  Well, I think I know the very thing to suit you.”

“Do you really?  How kind of you!” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte.  “What is it—­shares or bonds?”

“Shares,” replied Mr Sheepshanks; “shares.  Of course I know that very prudent people will tell you that bonds are safer.  And no doubt, as a rule they are.  If a concern fails, the bond-holder is a creditor, while the shareholder is a debtor—­besides having lost his capital.  But in this case there is no fear of failure.”

“Dear me,” said Aunt Charlotte, beginning to feel impressed.  “Is it an industrial undertaking?”

“I suppose it might be so described,” answered her adviser, cautiously.  “But it is mainly scientific.  It is the outcome of a great chemical analysis.”

“Oh, pray tell me all about it; I am so interested!” urged Aunt Charlotte, eagerly.  “You know what confidence I have in your judgment.  Has it anything to do with raw material?  It isn’t a plantation anywhere, is it?”

“It’s gold!” said Mr Sheepshanks.

“Gold?” repeated Aunt Charlotte, rather taken aback.  “A gold mine, I suppose you mean?”

“The hugest gold-mine in the world,” replied the vicar, enjoying her evident perplexity.  “An inexhaustible gold mine.  A gold mine without limits.”

“But where—­whereabouts is it?” cried Aunt Charlotte.

“All around you,” said the vicar, waving his hands vaguely in the air.  “Not in any country at all, but everywhere else.  In the ocean.”

“Gold in the ocean!” ejaculated the puzzled lady, dropping her knitting on her lap, and gazing helplessly at her financial mentor.