"I think," said Mr. Harland, when he introduced Frank J. Samuel Bindon to his wife, "that I begin to understand what Mr. Bindon meant when he wrote that he was shipping an a.s.sorted lot of sons. In his family he appears to have samples of every kind."

"Hollo!" cried John F. Ernest, as Frank J. Samuel put in an appearance in the playground, "here's Stammering Sam!"

"Maria," said Mr. Harland, about an hour later, to his wife, "Stammering Sam can fight. He has polished off John G. William. He is taking on John B. David for a change. What an interesting family those Bindons are."

On the Friday the fly which had conveyed Stammering Sam again drove up to the doors of Mulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.

"Sarah," he observed to the servant who opened the door, "I've been bringing you a queer lot of young gentlemen of late. Wednesday I brought you up one with a stutter, now I've brought you one what's only got one leg, and another what's only got one arm. You'll soon be able to keep a museum of living curiosities."

As he was speaking the flyman stood at the door of his fly, his back turned to his fares. Suddenly the servant gave an exclamation.

"Look out, Mr. Stubbs," she cried.

The flyman moved aside, just in time to avoid the full force of a blow, which although it missed his head, at which it was aimed, and only shaved his shoulder, made him roar with pain. A boy, one of the fares, was standing up in the fly, grasping, with both his hands, a curious weapon of offence--a wooden leg.

"You young murdering villain!" shouted the flyman, clapping his hand to his injured shoulder. "I've half a mind to break every bone in your body."

"I would if I were you," retorted the lad "Try it on. You've been saucing me all the way. I may only have one leg, but yours wouldn't be the first head which I've splintered with a wooden one. Then _you'd_ be a living curiosity, I guess."

This young gentleman entered Mulberry House hopping upon one leg. The wooden limb he carried in his hands. After him followed a second young gentleman, who, since one of his sleeves was pinned up to his coat, was apparently possessed of but a single arm.

"There's a armless young gentleman in the drawing-room," announced Sarah to her master, "and another what's got his leg tucked under his arm."

The announcement did not appear to take the princ.i.p.al of Mulberry House by surprise.

"Further samples of the a.s.sorted lot," he murmured.

He was right. The strangers were two more examples of the fecundity and the versatility of Mr. Bindon. The young gentleman with "his leg tucked under his arm" declared his name to be Oscar J. Oswald Bindon.

The young gentleman with only one arm under which a leg could possibly be "tucked" was another John T. Jasper Bindon.

"I understood from your father," said Mr. Harland, "that this lot would consist of five, or possibly seven. May I ask if there are any more of you to follow? This dropping in unexpectedly, by ones and twos, Mrs. Harland and I find a little inconvenient."

"There's two more coming. But we wouldn't have anything to do with them because they stutter."

This repudiation comes from Oscar J. Oswald. As he spoke he was fastening on his wooden leg.

Two or three hours afterwards the fly--the same fly--drove up again to Mulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.

"Sarah," he whispered from behind his hand, probably taught prudence by experience, "here's two more stutters."

II.

Mrs. Harland was superintending the putting out of the "clean things."

It was Sat.u.r.day. On Sundays, at Mulberry House, all the pupils "changed."

"If you please, ma'am, there's a person in the drawing-room who says she's Mrs. Bindon."

"Mrs. Bindon!" Mrs. Harland was lifting a pile of clean linen. It fell from her hands. Day-shirts and night-shirts were scattered on the floor. The lady eyed the maid standing in the doorway as though she were some creature of strange and fearful import. "Whom did she ask to see?"

"She asked to see the schoolmaster."

"The schoolmaster?"

Mrs. Harland pursed her lips.

"Yes, ma'am. She didn't mention any name. And master's out."

The lady, to the best of her ability, supplied her husband's place.

She interviewed the visitor. As she laid her hand on the handle of the drawing-room door her attentive ear detected a curious sound within.

"I do believe the woman's crying."

She turned the handle. She entered the room. A woman was seated on the extreme edge of a chair. She was indulging in a series of audible sniffs. In the palm of her hand, compressed into a knot which had something of the consistency of a cricket ball, was her handkerchief.

This she bobbed first at one eye, then at the other. When Mrs. Harland appeared she rose to her feet. The lady stared at her as if she were a spectre.

"Jane Cooper!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman dropped a curtsey.

"You brazen hussey! How dare you come into my house!"

"If you please, ma'am, I'm come after that boy of mine."

She was a nervous, shrinking, little woman. She had fair hair and a washed-out complexion. Her pale blue eyes were blurred with weeping.

She looked as though she had been crying for years. She wore a black silk dress, which was of primitive make, and the seams of which were slightly rusty. Her hands, which were gloveless, were large and red.

Her shapeless bonnet had strayed on to the side of her head.

Altogether she looked draggled and woebegone.

"You've come after that boy of yours! What do you mean?"

"My Neddy, ma'am."

Mrs. Harland gave an indignant twitch to her skimpy skirts. She moved across the room in the direction of the bell. The woman, perceiving her intention, gave an appealing cry.

"Don't be hard upon me. I've come all the way from America to see my Neddy, ma'am."

Mrs. Harland hesitated, her hand upon the bell-rope. This woman, when a child, had been her own pupil in the Sunday-school. Later she had been her servant. While in her service she had "gone wrong." The same day on which she had been turned adrift she had disappeared from Duddenham. Her former mistress had heard nothing of her from that hour unto the present one.

"Jane Cooper, my servant told me that you gave your name as Mrs.

Bindon. Are you Mrs. Bindon? Is that true?"

"It's gospel truth."

"Then"--Mrs. Harland released her hold of the bell-rope--"it _was_ Jolly Jack."

"That it was."