his team of old horses goes into the hills, or wherever it may be, and brings them down.  He has them piled about his barn and even in his yard, as another man might have flower beds.  And he can tell you, as he told me to-day, just where a stone of such a size and such a face can be found, though it be at the bottom of a pile.  No book lover with a feeling sense for the place in his cases where each of his books may be found has a sharper instinct than he.  In his pocket he carries a lump of red chalk, and when we had made our selections he marked each stone with a broad red cross.

I think it good fortune that I secured the old stone mason to do my work, and take to myself some credit for skill in enticing him.  He is past seventy years old, though of a ruddy fresh countenance and a clear bright eye, and takes no more contracts, and is even reluctantly persuaded to do the ordinary stone work of the neighbourhood.  He is “well enough off,” as the saying goes, to rest during the remainder of his years, for he has lived a temperate and frugal life, owns his own home with the little garden behind it, and has money in the bank.  But he can be prevailed upon, like an old artist who has reached the time of life when it seems as important to enjoy as to create, he can sometimes be prevailed upon to lay a wall for the joy of doing it.

So I had the stone hauled onto the ground, the best old field stone I could find, and I had a clean, straight foundation dug, and when all was ready I brought the old man over to look at it.  I said I wanted his advice.  No sooner did his glance light upon the stone, no sooner did he see the open and ready earth than a new light came in his eye.  His step quickened and as he went about he began to hum an old tune under his breath.  I knew then that I had him!  He had taken fire.  I could see that his eye was already selecting the stones that should “go down,” the fine square stones to make the corners or cap the wall, and measuring with a true eye the number of little stones for the fillers.  In no time at all he had agreed to do my work; indeed, would have felt aggrieved if I had not employed him.

I enjoyed the building of the wall, I think, as much as he did, and helped him what I could by rolling the larger stones close down to the edge of the wall.  As the old man works he talks, if any one cares to listen, or if one does not care to listen he is well content to remain silent among his stones.  But I enjoyed listening, for nothing in this world is so fascinating to me as the story of how a man has come to be what he is.  When we think of it there are no abstract adventures in this world, but only your adventure and my adventure, and it is only as we come to know a man that we can see how wonderful his life has been.