Mrs. Harland was superintending the putting out of the "clean things."
It was Saturday. 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."
Mrs. Harland moved a step nearer to the woman.
"Do you mean to tell me that all those boys are yours?"
"No, ma'am, only Neddy. His father had him called Edward J. Phillip,
but he's always been Neddy to me. The rest are Mr. Bindon's."
"The rest are Mr. Bindon's! Jane! what do you mean?"
There was a ring, a good loud ring, at the front door bell. The woman
clasped her hands.
"There's the rest of them," she cried. "Oh, don't let them come in
here."
"The rest of them?"
"The other Mrs. Bindons."
Mrs. Harland clutched at the back of a chair.
"The other Mrs. Bindons?"
"They're always going on at me, and making fun of me, and pinching me.
Oh! don't let them come in here."
The little woman's distress appeared to be genuine. She wrung her
hands. Her tears fell unheeded to the floor. Mrs. Harland gazed at her
both open-mouthed and open-eyed. Before she had recovered her presence
of mind sufficiently to enable her to understand the cause of her
visitor's emotion the door opened, and there entered unannounced--a
magnificent woman! She was very tall, and very stately, and very fat.
She weighed seventeen stone if she weighed an ounce. Her costume was
very different to that of the dowdy Jane. She was attired from head to
foot in red. She had on a red stuff dress with a train. A scarlet
mantle accentuated with its splendours the upper portion of her
person. She wore a red hat, adorned with a red feather. And her
face--as far as hue was concerned, her face matched her attire. She
surveyed Mrs. Harland through a pair of _pince-nez_. "Mrs. Harland! So
it is! How delightful! I should have known you anywhere--you haven't
altered hardly a bit."
The lady, her hand stretched out, advanced in the most condescending
fashion. Mrs. Harland shrank away.
"Louisa Brown!" she cried.
"Louisa Brown--that was; Mrs. Bindon--that is! Let me give you my
card. I had some printed just before I came away."
After some fumbling the lady produced from her pocket a gorgeous
mother-of-pearl card-case. Out of it she took a piece of pasteboard,
resplendent in all the colours of the rainbow, about four inches
square. This she offered Mrs. Harland. That lady declined it with a
gesture.
"Won't you have it? Well, I'll put it on the mantelpiece; it'll be
just the same. Dear old-fashioned mantelpieces! We don't have them out
our way--we're in advance, you know--but I remember them so well."
The lady suited the action to the word. She placed the piece of
cardboard on the mantelpiece in the most conspicuous place, on top of
the clock. Apparently unconscious that in Mrs. Harland's demeanour
there was anything peculiar, she carefully selected the largest
armchair the room contained. In it she placed her ample person. As she
arranged her skirts she remarked:
"I've come all this way to see them boys of mine. The dear lads! How
are they? I hope you haven't made them _too_ English. A little English
I don't mind, being English as it were myself; but too much English I
can't abide."
"You--impudent--creature!"
The lady put up her _pince-nez_.
"My stars! Here's goings on! May I ask if that remark was addressed to
me?"
"I never heard of such impudence in my life."
"Nor me. But some people have manners of their own. Is that the way in
which to treat a lady who comes to visit you--standing there and
staring?"
"A lady!" Mrs. Harland gasped. "Do you think I don't remember you?"
Mrs. Harland's form absolutely swelled as she glared at the big woman
seated in the easy-chair.
"You, Louisa Brown, whose name is to this day a byword in the village,
to dare to come into my drawing-room--and in those clothes!"
The big woman was not taken at all aback.
"What is the matter with my clothes?" she asked.
"You, whom your own father turned into the streets, to dare to place
yourself upon an equality with me!"
The big woman turned with an affable smile to the little one, who
stood trembling and sniffing in the centre of the room.
"Queer old-fashioned folk they are this side. Now, to my thinking, one
lady oughtn't to remind another lady of things she wishes to be
forgotten."
The little woman bobbed her knotted handkerchief into her eyes.
"Oh, Louisa, how can you now!"
Mrs. Harland raised her arm, semaphore fashion.
"Leave the room!" she said.
The big woman settled herself more comfortably in the easy-chair.
"Not me. Not unless I take my sons along with me. You have received
their father's money, which is mine; if you receive my money you'll
receive me too--we go together."
"_I_ have received your money--yours! Who are you?"
"There's my card." The big woman waved her hand in the direction of
the mantelshelf. "I've another in my pocket, and I've told you who I
am besides; but, to oblige you, I don't mind telling you who I am
again. I'm Mrs. Bindon."
Mrs. Harland turned upon the little woman. There was frenzy in her
air.
"Then who are you?"
Said the little woman, between her sniffs:
"I am Mrs. Bindon too."
"You are Mrs. Bindon too! Is the man a bigamist?"
The big woman smiled.
"There is no bigamy in Utah."
"Utah!" Mrs. Harland staggered back. "Utah!" She looked wildly round
the room. "Isn't Utah where the Mormons are?"
The big woman, taking out a large white handkerchief, proceeded, at
one and the same time, to fan herself, and to diffuse a strong odour
of patchouli.
"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 assembled 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."