Adventures in Friendship | Page 2

at this time of the year) floated a few
gauzy clouds: the whole world was busy with spring!

I straightened up in my buggy and drew in a good breath. The mare,
half startled, pricked up her ears and began to trot. She, too, felt the
spring.
"Here," I said aloud, "is where I belong. I am native to this place; of all
these things I am a part."
But presently--how one's mind courses back, like some keen-scented
hound, for lost trails--I began to think again of my friend's lodges. And
do you know, I had lost every trace of depression. The whole matter lay
as clear in my mind, as little complicated, as the countryside which met
my eye so openly.
"Why!" I exclaimed to myself, "I need not envy my friend's lodges. I
myself belong to the greatest of all fraternal orders. I am a member of
the Universal Brotherhood of Men."
It came to me so humorously as I sat there in my buggy that I could not
help laughing aloud. And I was so deeply absorbed with the idea that I
did not at first see the whiskery old man who was coming my way in a
farm wagon. He looked at me curiously. As he passed, giving me half
the road, I glanced up at him and called out cheerfully:
"How are you, Brother?"
You should have seen him look--and look--and look. After I had passed
I glanced back. He had stopped his team, turned half way around in his
high seat and was watching me--for he did not understand.
"Yes, my friend," I said to myself, "I am intoxicated--with the wine of
spring!"
I reflected upon his astonishment when I addressed him as "Brother." A
strange word! He did not recognize it. He actually suspected that he
was not my Brother.
So I jogged onward thinking about my fraternity, and I don't know
when I have had more joy of an idea. It seemed so explanatory!

"I am glad," I said to myself, "that I am a Member. I am sure the
Masons have no such benefits to offer in their lodges as we have in
ours. And we do not require money of farmers (who have little to pay).
We will accept corn, or hen's eggs, or a sandwich at the door, and as for
a cheerful glance of the eye, it is for us the best of minted coin."
(Item: to remember. When a man asks money for any good thing,
beware of it. You can get a better for nothing.)
I cannot undertake to tell where the amusing reflections which grew out
of my idea would finally have led me if I had not been interrupted. Just
as I approached the Patterson farm, near the bridge which crosses the
creek, I saw a loaded wagon standing on the slope of the hill ahead.
The horses seemed to have been unhooked, for the tongue was down,
and a man was on his knees between the front wheels.
Involuntarily I said:
"Another member of my society: and in distress!"
I had a heart at that moment for anything. I felt like some old
neighbourly Knight travelling the earth in search of adventure. If there
had been a distressed mistress handy at that moment, I feel quite certain
I could have died for her--if absolutely necessary.
As I drove alongside, the stocky, stout lad of a farmer in his brown
duck coat lined with sheep's wool, came up from between the wheels.
His cap was awry, his trousers were muddy at the knees where he had
knelt in the moist road, and his face was red and angry.
A true knight, I thought to myself, looks not to the beauty of his lady,
but only to her distress.
"What's the matter, Brother?" I asked in the friendliest manner.
"Bolt gone," he said gruffly, "and I got to get to town before nightfall."
"Get in," I said, "and we'll drive back. We shall see it in the road."

So he got in. I drove the mare slowly up the hill and we both leaned out
and looked. And presently there in the road the bolt lay. My farmer got
out and picked it up.
"It's all right," he said. "I was afraid it was clean busted. I'm obliged to
you for the lift."
"Hold on," I said, "get in, I'll take you back."
"Oh, I can walk."
"But I can drive you faster," I said, "and you've got to get the load to
town before nightfall."
I could not let him go without taking tribute. No matter what the story
books say, I am firmly of the opinion that no gentle knight (who was
human) ever parted with the fair lady whose misery he had relieved
without exchanging