"Utah is, upon earth, the abiding place of the saints," she said.

Mrs. Harland echoed her words.

"The abiding place of the saints."

A vehicle was approaching the house. It could be seen through the window.

"I think," observed the big woman, as she raised her _pince-nez_, "that here are some of the other Mrs. Bindons."

Rising from her seat she opened the drawing-room door.

"Come in, my dears," she said, addressing some person or persons without; "I am here, and Mrs. Jane."

As she held the door wide open a procession began to enter the room--a procession of women. They were of all styles and shapes and sizes.

There were fat and there were thin. They were attired in all the colours of the rainbow. Mrs. Harland, who began to think that her senses must be leaving her, distinctly counted seven. The seven, with the two already arrived, made nine--nine Mrs. Bindons. How the seven had journeyed in a single fly is one of the mysteries which are not yet unfolded. The big woman acted as mistress of the ceremonies.

"Sit down, my dears, there are seats for you all. I am sure you will excuse a little crowding."

"Where's the teacher?" asked a short, thick-set woman, who had seated herself with her legs apart, and her hands set squarely on her knees.

"That is more than I can tell you. But here's his wife."

The big woman waved her handkerchief and an odour of patchouli towards Mrs. Harland.

"Oh, you're the schoolmarm?" The thickset woman eyed Mrs. Harland as though she were taking her mental measurement "Where's them boys of mine?"

"These," explained the big woman, in the condescending way which seemed to be a peculiarity of hers, "are some of the other Mrs.

Bindons. I have not," she added, "been treated quite with the civility I should like, and have a right to expect, but on this side they're so old-fashioned."

"None of your old fashions for me, and none of your new ones neither.

Give me the ways I'm used to. Where's them boys of mine?"

The thick-set woman stared at Mrs. Harland in a manner which suggested combat. The lady pressed her hand to her side. She felt at a loss for breath. Mechanically she crossed the room and rang the bell. The servant appeared.

"Tell the Masters Bindon that they are wanted in the drawing-room."

The servant gazed in amazement at the a.s.sembled congregation. The order had to be repeated before her faculties returned.

"Is that the hired gal?" inquired the thick-set woman directly the housemaid's back was turned.

"Servant, they call them here," explained the big woman in her patronising way.

The thick-set woman snorted. She glared at the big woman as though she were not grateful for the explanation. Silence prevailed. The nine ladies stared at Mrs. Harland. They seemed to be mentally appraising her. She herself appeared to be stricken with a sort of mental paralysis, as though the invasion had stricken her dumb.

At last--it seemed a very long at last--the door reopened, and there appeared the red-haired Master Bindon--John F. Stanley. His appearance was followed by another interval of silence. The ladies stared at him.

He stared at the ladies. No enthusiasm was shown on either side. The thick-set woman broke the silence.

"So it's you?"

"It's me." He edged away. "Don't you hit me!" he exclaimed.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"What for?"

"Here you are in England, and your mother's looking for you in Canada.

I guess your father's got you mixed."

"I shouldn't wonder," struck in a thin, acidulated-looking woman, "if Mr. Bindon's took you for my George, and sent my George to Canada. I never knew such a head for children as that man has got. Is my George here?"

"No," said Rufus. He grinned.

"Then," exclaimed the acidulated-looking woman, "I'm clean done."

The nervous little woman came forward. She laid her hand on Rufus's arm. "My Neddy's here! I'm sure my Neddy's here!"

Although she said that she was sure, her tone was by no means one of certainty. Her voice trembled--the little woman trembled too.

"He's not," said Rufus. He grinned again.

"He's not!" The little woman started back. "Not here! Mr. Bindon told me himself that he'd sent my Neddy to school at the old place at Duddenham. He wouldn't let me come all this way for nothing. And I've spent all my money on my fare."

The rest of the Masters Bindon began to enter the room. They came in a long unbroken line. The little woman looked, with eager eyes, for the face she sought. The line ceased. She turned to Mrs. Harland.

"That's not all?" she cried.

"I think it is," said Mrs. Harland, with a sort of gasp.

"Neddy! Neddy!"

Crying, the little woman sank on her knees upon the floor.

There was a goodly company of the Masters Bindon. There were some among them the sight of whom gladdened their mothers' hearts.

"So it _is_ you?" observed the thick-set woman to John G. William.

"You've not gone to Canada--no such luck! Where's your brother?" The wooden-legged hero, Oscar J. Oswald, stumped in sight. "When I get you home I'll give you a good sound hiding, the pair of you. Didn't I tell you to write to me each week? You haven't so much as sent me a line to say if you was living or dead. When I get you home I'll make you wish that you was dead."

The big woman--Louisa Brown, that was--had three young gentlemen standing in a line in front of her. They were the three "stutters."

"Now, boys, I hope you've got cured of your stammerings. You can't kiss me, you'll mess my things. Do you hear what I say? I do hope you've got cured of your stammering."

"B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b--"

There arose a chaos of sounds. The three young gentlemen opened their mouths. Judging from their contortions they appeared to be suffering agonies.

"For goodness gracious stop that noise!" The fond mother clapped her hands to her ears. "I declare I feel inclined to knock your heads together. Why, your stammer's worse than before. I must say"--she glanced towards Mrs. Harland--"I must say that you've been shamefully neglected."