When Skinny the Swiper, standing in the little country burying-ground, looked upon the time-stained marble slab, and deciphered the inscription upon it, he opened his eyes in wonder, and for the second time within five minutes, uttered the exclamation which he kept on hand for such emergencies as demanded something more vigorous and expressive than commonplace English.

“Hully gee!” was all that this little New York street boy had to say; but coming from him it possessed a deeper significance than is conveyed by the cold type which spells the words.

First he looked at the grave-stone, and then he looked at Bruce Decker, and finally he asked: “Wuz dat your mother?”

“Yes,” replied Bruce, simply.

Skinny said nothing but he thought a great deal; and while he was thinking he scratched his head and looked down at the half obliterated mound of earth that marked the grave of Mrs. Decker. From the very first he had suspected 267that there was some connection between the gallant young fire laddie, who had saved his life and carried him from the burning building, and the scarred and bearded man who had sent him to this remote corner of the world. He had not forgotten that he had been solemnly charged not to breathe a word to any human being in regard to his strange errand, and he had an intuitive feeling that if he violated in any way the trust reposed in him, his employer would learn of it, and mete out to him a terrible vengeance, instead of the liberal reward that he had promised.

On the other hand, he saw before him the boy who had done for him what no one else in the world would have done for a friendless, ragged child of the streets, and for a moment he hesitated as to which of these two masters he should choose to serve. To the one he owed a certain amount of loyalty—a few dollars worth, perhaps—but to the other he owed his life. He raised his eyes, and encountered the clear, honest, truthful ones of Bruce, which looked him square in the face, and he hesitated no longer. Rough contact with the world had taught him to be suspicious of others, and it was rare enough in his career that he had encountered any one whom he fully trusted. But 268there was that in Bruce’s face which caused him to say to himself: “Dat man is all right, an’ white,” which is a high compliment for a newsboy to pay any one.

Having reached the conclusion that Bruce was the best friend he was likely to have in the world, he took from his pocket the written instructions which Mr. Korwein had given him, handed the paper to the new master whom he had elected to serve, and blurted out: “Hay, boss, ain’t dat de same party?”

To say that Bruce was surprised when he saw his mother’s name written in an unknown handwriting, and in the possession of his little hospital friend but feebly describes his condition of mind.

“Come over here with me,” he said, as he led the way to a low stone wall, somewhat remote from the couples who were walking up and down the paths, laughing and whispering and talking. Then, seating himself on a convenient bowlder, he said to Skinny: “How in the world did you ever get hold of this paper?”

And Skinny in reply told him the whole story of the dark-bearded man, who had summoned him to his office, and sent him away to the shore of the great inland lake, simply to get information 269about Mary Decker and her son, if son she had. Skinny’s recital occupied nearly a quarter of an hour, for he stretched it so as to include his adventures while on the road from New York, and the circumstances which had led to his becoming what he called a haymaker. Bruce listened intently to every word the boy uttered, and questioned him narrowly in regard to Mr. Korwein and his motive in entrusting him with such a strange commission. Of course Skinny could not account for the man’s motives, and, indeed, that was something he had not troubled himself about. It was enough to him that his employer wished to obtain certain information, and was willing to pay for it. So long as he could be well paid for his work he did not concern himself about people’s motives, or ask what would be done with the information which he supplied. But he did not neglect to mention the fact that in telling as much as he had, he had betrayed his employer, and he warned his friend to keep strictly to himself all that he had told him. Bruce readily agreed to this, and then, as the afternoon had already merged into twilight, they returned to the village, Skinny, passing on to Mr. Wolcott’s house and Bruce going to that of the friends whom he was visiting.

270The following evening the two boys met again by agreement, and, with his friends assistance, Skinny composed and sent to his employer in New York the following letter:
“Mr. Korwein—

Dear Sir:—I went up to the cemetery yesterday, and seen the grave, which had on it
Sacred to the memory
of
Mary, wife of Frank Decker.
Born Dec. 1st, 1855,
Died Sept. 5th, 1877.

There wasn’t no other graves of any folks named Decker. I am still on the farm. No more at present. From
Skinny.”

Then he entrusted to Bruce his employer’s address and bade him good-bye with a parting injunction not to let the man know where he learned of him; and with this address in his pocket, Bruce climbed aboard a New York train, said good-bye to a number of admiring villagers who accompanied him to the depot and was borne away toward New York, while the street boy walked slowly back to the Wolcott’s.

Skinny writes a letter to Mr. Korwein.—Page 270.

271As the train rolled swiftly along our young hero sat with his face pressed against the car window looking out into the quiet night and thinking over the strange things that happened to him of late. To begin with, there was this dark bearded man of mystery who, he was positive, could tell him everything that he wished to know; and who was this ragged newsboy whom he had befriended—could it be possible that he was simply a hireling of the other and that he had been sent to Rocky Point to spy upon him? No, he could not doubt Skinny’s sincerity, and the feeling had been growing daily within him that through him the mystery which enveloped his early days and even his origin would finally be cleared up. One thing he had determined, and that was that as soon as he reached New York he would go to Mr. Korwein and boldly ask him—what? That was the trouble. What should he ask him? He would feel very foolish saying to that scarred and bearded gentleman: “Please sir will you tell me who I am and clear up the mystery which enshrouds me?”

His mind was still busy with this problem when the monotonous motion of the train got the better of his senses and he fell into a deep sleep.

And just at that moment Skinny the Swiper was lying wide awake in the comfortable attic room in which Mr. Wolcott had installed him and was asking himself what it all meant. Why shou............