Bruce had always been fond of reading since his earliest childhood, and it was his habit, when not otherwise employed, to spend most of his time seated in the back room of the quarters reading whatever books or newspapers he could find there. These books and newspapers were contributed by different well-disposed people who, having more reading matter than they required, remembered the firemen, and distributed them along the different engine houses in the town. One morning, while the boy was engaged in this manner, a tall, well-built and military looking gentleman, who seemed to be fully seventy years of age, entered the quarters and inquired for the chief. “He’s upstairs, sir, but I’ll call him down,” said Bruce, promptly rising and offering the old gentleman a chair. Then he went upstairs and a moment later the chief came down and quickly recognized in his visitor an acquaintance known as Mr. Samuel Dexter, who lived in an old-fashioned house in the northern part of the city. Mr. Dexter told him that he had called simply to gratify his curiosity in regard to the fire department, and after the chief had shown him the different sorts of apparatus kept there, and explained the method of getting out quickly, his visitor asked him what they did for reading matter. “Well, we are dependent on our friends for that,” replied the chief, “there are a number of people who send us books and papers from time to time, and without them, I can assure you that the hours would hang pretty heavily on our hands.” “Why, I have a lot of books and magazines in my garret that I shall never have any use for,” exclaimed Mr. Dexter, “and if you could send up for them some day, I would be very glad to let you have them.” Chief Trask thanked him for his offer and turning to Bruce who stood by, directed him to drive up there in one of his wagons the next morning and get the periodicals. The next day accordingly, Bruce started in the chief’s wagon and drove slowly up Lexington avenue, then turning to the right and crossing the Harlem river he found himself in an entirely strange part of the city. There were not many houses to be seen, and down near the water were great stretches of open fields and in some places heaps of lumber and enormous bins of coal. Continuing in a northerly direction he soon found the quiet avenue on which Mr. Dexter lived, and then he entered a wide gate and drove along a short roadway leading to a big, square, gloomy looking stone house, completely hidden from the street by a dense hedge and some thick clusters of fir trees.