“Well, you know Chief Trask sent me up to Mr. Dexter’s house to get a lot of books and magazines. I don’t suppose you were ever up there, were you?”
“No, can’t say that I ever was, but it’s your move,” rejoined Weyman.
“It’s a great big house,” went on Bruce, as he moved one of his men so carelessly that his opponent instantly took it, “in fact it’s one of the finest houses I was ever in. There’s a big, thick hedge that separates it from the street, and when you get inside the hedge there’s a roadway that winds through a big, thick clump of firs and pines, right up to the front door of the house. The minute I came inside the gate the place took on a familiar look and I was positive that some time or other I’d been there before. When I stopped in front of the door, that looked familiar too, and then I seemed to remember that there was another door on the other side of the house that was smaller and had a little porch over it, so as to shade the doorstep. Just to see if I was right or not, I got out and walked around the house and there, sure enough, was the side door, just as I had either dreamt it or remembered it some time ever so many years ago; only it seemed to me that in reality the place was only about one quarter as big as I had imagined it.”
By this time Weyman had become so much interested in the boy’s narrative that he had ceased entirely to think of the game and was now gazing at Bruce in the intense manner of one who is hearing some startling piece of news in which he has a strong personal interest.
“You say that you remember the place and yet you were never there before?” demanded the fireman.
“Yes,” answered the boy, “and moreover I don’t think that I could have seen a picture of it, for the smell of the flowers and of the vines over the porch was just as familiar to my nostrils as the doorway was to my eyes. I don’t think I could ever have been there before, and it seemed to me as if I had dreamt of the place, not once, but a great many times.”
For a moment or two Charles Weyman was silent, then he pushed away the checkerboard and said: “What you’ve just told me, Bruce, is very curious and seems to confirm an idea that came to me long ago when your father was alive. Do you know anything about your father or his relations?”
Bruce thought a minute, and then answered: “No, I never knew he had any relations. I was brought up by some old people who lived in the country on the shore of Lake Ontario and only saw my father once a year. Then he never used to talk to me about anything except the fire company, and it was that that made me crazy to join the service. If he had any brothers or sisters or cousins he never mentioned them to me, and to tell the truth this is the first time in my life that I ever thought about the subject.”
“But didn’t your mother have any relations who are living now?” inquired Weyman.
“Not that I ever heard of. She died when I was very young and I can scarcely remember her. Since then I lived with those old people, who took care of me, but after my father died, I determined to strike out for myself and so I came down to New York.”