Mrs. Harland, looking down the table, observed another Master Bindon whose eye looked queer. "How, my boy, did you manage to get that black eye?" "John G. William," replied the black-haired--and black-eyed--youth. "John G. William!" The lady, still allowing her glances to wander, lighted on a third Master Bindon, whose face was so dreadfully disfigured that it really made recognition difficult. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "What has happened to the child?" This Master Bindon was the red-haired youth. He looked at the lady as well as the damaged state of his "optics" would permit. He uttered the ubiquitous name, "John G. William." Then he added, "He's been fighting us. And, d----n him! he always is." John G. William volunteered a statement on his own account. "I told father I should lick 'em. He said he shouldn't be surprised but what they wanted it, and so I might." It seemed curious for a father to give his son permission to "lick" his brothers, whom he was travelling 4000 miles to meet. Such conduct on the part of a father was scarcely in accordance with the traditions of Mulberry House. But the behaviour of the Masters Bindon one towards the other, not only now and then but as an invariable rule, was in itself a curiosity. "Those Bindons," Mr. Harland told himself, some short time after the arrival of the latest comer, "are certainly the most remarkable boys I ever remember to have met, especially John G. William." But Mr. Harland had not become acquainted with all the peculiarities of the Bindon family yet. One morning, perhaps six weeks after the advent of John G. William, Mr. Harland, coming in to breakfast, noticed, seated at table with his pupils, a boy who was to him a stranger. On that occasion Mr. Harland happened to be a couple of minutes late. The meal had been begun before he entered the room. As he came in, seated at the other side of the table, facing him, placidly eating his bread and butter, was this boy. He was a very thin boy, with high projecting cheek-bones and light hair, cut very close. He wore a pair of spectacles, or rather, they would have been a pair if one of the glasses had not happened to be broken. Altogether there was something about him which suggested that he had quite recently been engaged in a discussion of an animated character. "Hollo!" cried Mr. Harland. "Who are you?" "I am John P. Arthur Bindon." His accent was nasal, undoubtedly the product of the land of the stars and stripes. "Who?" repeated Mr. Harland, seeming a little puzzled. "John P. Arthur Bindon." The boy took off his spectacles. "John G. William's broken one of my glasses. He's been licking me." Mr. Harland looked about him, plainly at a loss. Mr. Moore, the usher, took his glance as containing an inquiry. "I found him with the rest of the pupils in the playground." "Oh," repeated Mr. Harland, "you found him with the rest of the pupils in the playground."