Skinny made no reply, but continued to regard the other with his keen, light-blue eyes, and then Bruce went on in softer tones: “My mother is buried here, and I came out to see her grave. Come over here, and I’ll show it to you.” Leading the way, across an empty bit of grass, he stopped in front of a small gray headstone, and there the New York street boy read a name which caused him to forget himself for the second time that afternoon, and to exclaim once more “Hully gee!”
Never, up to that moment, had he in any way connected Bruce, whom he knew only by his first name, with the mission on which he had been sent, but now a sudden gleam of comprehension lit up his mind, for he saw on the grave-stone before him the inscription:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF
Mary, Wife of Frank Decker,
BORN DEC. 1ST, 1855,
DIED SEPT. 5TH, 1877.
Chapter XXVII.
Let us return now to the Van Kuren family, whom we last saw at the moment of their departure for Europe. Mr. Van Kuren having determined to give himself a long rest and his children opportunities for travel in foreign lands and study under the most competent instructors, journeyed at once to Paris and there established himself in a great hotel intending to take a place in the suburbs of the French capital. Laura and her brother amused themselves by walking and riding through the city, sometimes with their aunt and sometimes with Mr. Reed, their tutor, but there were many hours which they were compelled to spend in their rooms engaged in study, for their lessons went on under the supervision of their tutor just exactly as they had at home.
One morning they were sitting together in the parlor of Mr. Van Kuren’s apartment talking about America and their many friends there, as they frequently did, and Bruce’s name came up with the others.