"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.
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