“Well, come here on a bye-day and you’ll often find half-a-dozen Brethren, with eight legs between ’em, polishing and ronuking and sweeping everything they can get at. I cured a shell-shocker this spring by giving him our jewels to look after. He pretty well polished the numbers off ’em, but--it kept him from fighting Huns in his sleep. And when we need Masters to take our duties--two matinées a week is rather a tax--we’ve the choice of P.M.’s from all over the world. The Dominions are much keener on Ritual than an average English Lodge. Besides that----Oh, we’re going to adjourn. Listen to the greetings. They’ll be interesting.” The crack of the great gavel brought us to our feet, after some surging and plunging among the cripples. Then the Battery-Sergeant-Major, in a trained voice, delivered hearty and fraternal greetings to “Faith and Works” from his tropical District and Lodge. The others followed, without order, in every tone between a grunt and a squeak. I heard “Hauraki,” “Inyanga-Umbezi,” “Aloha,” “Southern Lights” (from somewhere Punta Arenas way), “Lodge of Rough Ashlars” (and that Newfoundland Naval Brother looked it), two or three Stars of something or other, half-a-dozen cardinal virtues, variously arranged, hailing from Klondyke to Kalgoorlie, one Military Lodge on one of the fronts, thrown in with a severe Scots burr by my friend of the head-bandages, and the rest as mixed as the Empire itself. Just at the end there was a little stir. The silent Brother had begun to make noises; his companion tried to soothe him. “Let him be! Let him be!” the Doctor called professionally. The man jerked and mouthed, and at last mumbled something unintelligible even to his friend, but a small dark P.M. pushed forward importantly. “It iss all right,” he said. “He wants to say----” he spat out some yard-long Welsh name, adding, “That means Pembroke Docks, Worshipful Sir. We haf good Masons in Wales, too.” The silent man nodded approval. “Yes,” said the Doctor, quite unmoved. “It happens that way sometimes. _Hespere panta fereis_, isn’t it? The Star brings ’em all home. I must get a note of that fellow’s case after Lodge. I saw you didn’t care for music,” he went on, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with a little more. It’s a paraphrase from Micah. Our organist arranged it. We sing it antiphonally, as a sort of dismissal.” Even I could appreciate what followed. The singing seemed confined to half-a-dozen trained voices answering each other till the last line, when the full Lodge came in. I give it as I heard it: “We have showed thee, O Man, What is good. What doth the Lord require of us? Or Conscience’ self desire of us? But to do justly-- But to love mercy, And to walk humbly with our God, As every Mason should.”