And as Bruce drove out of the handsome grounds of Mr. Van Kuren’s house, he felt that it had been a well spent and eventful day for him. He felt sure that he had made a friend in young Van Kuren, and then he fell to thinking of Mr. Dexter and his big stone house and his familiar looking porch and the little side door with its clinging vines, and he wondered for the hundredth time under what circumstances he could have seen them before. CHAPTER VII. With the possible exception of John Trask, it is doubtful if Bruce had a better friend in the whole company than Charley Weyman, who drove the truck and was looked upon as one of the nerviest and most active firemen in the battalion. Weyman had been Frank Decker’s most intimate friend, and the natural interest which he took in the son was deepened by the readiness shown by the latter to oblige his new friend and to help him in every possible way in the discharge of his duty. It was not unnatural then that Bruce should decide to repeat to Weyman his strange experiences at Mr. Dexter’s house, and accordingly one afternoon, a few days subsequent to his visit, he said to the fireman, just as they had seated themselves for a quiet game of checkers: “There was a funny thing happened to me the other day when I went after those books, and I’d like to know if you could give me any explanation of it.” “Well, what was the funny thing?” inquired the other, as he moved one of his men in the direction of the king row. “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.”