The Van Kuren mansion and grounds constituted one of the finest places
in the upper part of New York, and to Bruce, accustomed to plain ways of
living, it seemed almost like some enchanted palace in fairyland. For
fully an hour he strolled about the grounds under the guidance of Miss
Laura Van Kuren, who talked to him as freely and frankly as if she had
known him all her life. Harry was in disgrace, she said, for going off
without consulting his tutor, and he would probably be kept in the house
until he had learned and recited the lesson which had been given him
that morning. Meantime she would entertain his guest herself, and as she
was very pretty, very bright, and altogether very friendly and charming,
Bruce did not feel the absence of her brother to any great extent. In
fact, he was mean enough to hope in his secret heart that Mr. Reed would
keep him in the house all the rest of the afternoon so that he and Laura
might continue their confidential talk as they walked about together.
And as they talked, Bruce, who was naturally a diffident boy, became
emboldened to such a degree that he made up his mind to ask the young
girl if she knew anything about Mr. Dexter and the big, old fashioned
house, which had seemed familiar ground to her. The opportunity for
putting the question soon came. They were sitting together in a small
summer house, eating some strawberries which they had picked in the
garden, taking advantage of a moment when the gardener was off in
another part of the grounds.
“Did you ever know a Mr. Dexter, who lives near here?” inquired Bruce,
during a pause in the conversation.
The girl looked up quickly as she said, “You don’t mean that old
gentleman who lives over there about half a mile along the road, do
you?”
“Yes, he lives in a big square stone house,” said the boy.
Laura cast a hasty and apprehensive glance around her, and then said in
lowered tones, as if she feared that some one were listening, “I know
who he is, but papa won’t let us go near his house. Papa says that he’s
a bad man and he won’t have anything to do with him, but I think he’s
real nice, and one day, about a year ago, I was out walking near there,
and he saw me and called me in and gave me some big bunches of splendid
grapes, and then he asked me my name, and when I told him he seemed
surprised, and somehow he wasn’t nice any more, and in a minute or two
he told me that I had better run home or my people would be anxious
about me. When I got home I told papa about it, and he was awfully
angry, and said that I must never go into that yard again, and that if I
saw Mr. Dexter coming I must run away. I asked him why, and he wouldn’t
tell me. But where did you ever hear of him?”
Bruce hesitated a few minutes before replying, and then made answer,
“The chief of our battalion, Mr. Trask, sent me up there the other day
on an errand.”
“And did you go inside the grounds and into the house?” demanded Laura,
excitedly. “Do tell me all about it, for it is such a romantic looking
place that I always feel as if there were some mysterious story
connected with it. And then that old Mr. Dexter never goes out anywhere,
and nobody seems to know anything about him. My nurse, the one who lived
with us for twenty-five years, told me once that Mr. Dexter and papa
used to be great friends, but they had some kind of a quarrel. I asked
her what they quarreled about and she wouldn’t tell me, although I am
sure she knows all about it.”
The young girl’s words of course made a deep impression on Bruce, who
was now more curious than ever to learn the history of the kindly old
gentleman who lived all by himself in the big, square stone house behind
the thick hedge.
“Go on and tell me all about what you saw there,” said Laura eagerly. “I
am sure there’s some mystery about the place like the ones we read about
in the story books. When I was a little bit of a girl, I used to imagine
there was a sleeping beauty hidden away behind those dark trees and I
expected that some day a prince would come and wake her up and that then
there’d be a grand party for everybody around here to go to.”
“Well, there is a mystery about it, and it’s one I’d like very much to
solve,” said Bruce quietly.
“A mystery!” exclaimed Laura, “Now you must tell me everything about it
before you leave this summer-house,” and she spoke in the tones of a
young girl who expected to have her own way.
“I don’t know whether I ought to say anything to you about it or not,”
began the boy in a doubtful voice, “and besides you might not be
interested in the mystery because after all it only concerns myself.”
“Go right on and tell me this very minute!” cried the girl imperiously.
“You’ll promise never to tell as long as you live and breathe?”
“Hope to die, if I do,” rejoined Laura fervently, “Now, go on.”
Thus adjured, Bruce told her the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s
house and the strangely familiar look that the place had worn; and he
told her, too, of the conversation that he had had with Charley Weyman
and of the advice that the latter had given him. Laura listened to his
words with the deepest attention, and when he had finished, she drew a
long breath and said, “that’s the most interesting, romantic thing I
ever heard about in all my life. And you don’t really know who your
folks are? Why you might be almost anybody in the world, and maybe
you’re the prince who will come and waken up the princess with a kiss,
the same as in the story book. But how are you going to work to find out
what it all means? You must tell me everything you do about it for I’ll
never be able to sleep at night until you’re restored to your rights.”
[Illustration: Bruce tells Laura the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s
house.—_Page 72._]
Bruce, who was of a rather practical turn of mind, was amused at the
excitement of his more imaginative companion. Up to this moment he had
simply felt a curiosity to learn why it was that the Dexter homestead
seemed familiar to him, and it had never occurred to him that he had any
particular “rights” to be restored to him, or that any grave question
depended on the fancied resemblance of the place to the one pictured in
his memory.
“I would like very much to learn something about Mr. Dexter and his old
house, but I don’t know how to go about it. I always lived in the
country, and, outside the men in our fire company, I have no friends or
even acquaintances in New York. You have lived here all your life, and
everything seems natural to you, but you’ve no idea what a big, lonely,
desolate place this city is to a boy like me who comes here as a
stranger.”
“I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Laura suddenly, “when my papa comes home
to-night—you know you’re going to stay to dinner with us—you ask him
about Mr. Dexter but don’t tell him that you said a word to me about it.
Maybe he’ll tell you something that will be of some use to you, but
don’t say a word to him about what you told me about your visit there.
We must keep that for our own secret, and I shall be mad if you tell him
or Harry or anybody else, and if I get mad I won’t help you to find out
the mystery of it. Now, you must do just what I tell you or else I won’t
like you any more.”
“What secret are you talking about?” demanded some one close beside them
in a voice so loud that both Laura and Bruce started in surprise from
their seats. It was Harry who had just been released by his tutor and
had been, according to his own account, hunting them all over the
grounds.
Laura put her finger on her lips and threw a significant glance at
Bruce, and so it happened that Harry learned nothing of what they had
been talking about for fully half an hour.
At six o’clock, Mr. Van Kuren reached home. He shook hands with Bruce
and told him he was glad to see him and thanked him for his kindness to
Harry.
Bruce noticed that both children appeared to stand in wholesome awe of
their parent, obeying him with the utmost alacrity and conversing only
in low tones while he was present. This was not surprising to the young
visitor, for Mr. Van Kuren impressed him as a stern, silent,
self-contained man, who might be very severe if he chose to. But his
face was not unkind, and in the few remarks that he addressed to his
guest he showed a certain interest in his welfare and a desire to make
him feel as much at home as it was possible for a shy, country boy,
unaccustomed to the ways of society, to feel in a splendid house like
the one in which he found himself now. But all idea of asking him about
the Dexter mansion left his mind, and although he found himself alone
with him for a few moments before dinner was announced, he simply did
not dare to broach the subject that was uppermost in his mind.
The dinner to which he sat down seemed to Bruce a very grand affair. It
was served in a large, square room, wainscoted in dark wood and
furnished in a rich, simple and tasteful fashion. The round table was
covered with a white damask cloth of beautiful texture and the glass and
silver seemed to have been polished with wonderful care. Colored wax
candles with silk shades shed a soft light. Besides Mr. Van Kuren and
his two children there were two other persons in the company; Mr. Reed,
the tutor, a tall, grave young man who talked but little, and seemed to
watch Harry with much care, and a delicate, nervous lady, a sister of
Mr. Van Kuren’s, whom the children called Aunt Emma, and who retired to
her apartment as soon as the cloth was removed.
For such a fine dinner it seemed to Bruce that every thing moved very
easily and quietly. There were two men in black coats and white ties who
went about noiselessly serving the guests and removing the dishes. Mr.
Van Kuren, Miss Van Kuren and Mr. Reed drank wine, but there were no
glasses at either Harry’s or Laura’s plate. Mr. Van Kuren asked Bruce if
he would like a little claret, and he declined. He began to explain why
he did not wish any, but stopped suddenly, feeling perhaps that he was
saying too much, but Mr. Van Kuren helped him out with a kindly, smiling
inquiry, and he went on: “Chief Trask of my battalion advised me not to
drink anything, because he told me that when it was known of a young
fireman that he did not take a drop of anything it was a great aid to
him and helped him to get along.”
“Very good indeed,” said Mr. Van Kuren approvingly, “at any rate you’re
too young now to need it.”
At first, the young visitor was not quite sure of himself and did not
know exactly what to do with all the forks that he found beside his
plate, but by carefully watching his host he managed to acquit himself
with credit; and when they arose from the table he realized that he had
not made one single “bad break” as Harry would have called it.
“Did you ask Papa about the Dexter house?” whispered Laura at the first
opportunity.
“No,” replied the boy simply, “I was too much afraid of him; after what
you told about his getting mad, I wouldn’t have said anything about Mr.
Dexter for a hundred dollars.”
Soon after dinner Bruce took his leave, having promised his new friends
that he would pay them another visit as soon as he could. Ashe was
saying good-bye, Laura slipped into his hand a small piece of paper, and
when he opened it in the elevated train he found the following note:
“I have a splendid idea and will let you know about it very soon. I
think it will help you to solve the mystery of the haunted house.
“Truly your friend,
LAURA VAN KUREN.”