The Bridge

    Once upon a time two brothers who lived on neighboring farms fell into conflict.

    One morning there was a knock on John‘s door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox.

    “I‘m looking for a few days’ work，” he said. “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there I could help with？”

    “Yes，” said the elder brother. “I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That‘s my neighbor； in fact， it’s my younger brother‘s. Last week there was a meadow between us， but he took his bulldozer to the river levee， and now there is a creek between us. See that pile of lumber by the barn？ I want you to build me a fence—an 8-foot fence—so I won’t need to see his face any more.”

    The carpenter said， “I think I understand the situation. I‘ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”

    The elder brother had to go to town on business， so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready， and then he was off. About sunset when John returned， the carpenter had just finished his job. John‘s eyes opened wide. There was no fence there at all.

    It was a bridge—a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other！ A fine piece of work， handrails and all and the neighbor， his younger brother， was coming across， his hand outstretched.

    “You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I‘ve said and done.” The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge， and then they met in the middle， taking each other’s hand， then embracing each other.

    They turned to see the carpenter raise his toolbox on his shoulder. “No， wait！ Stay a few days. I‘ve a lot of other projects for you，” said John. “I’d love to stay on.” The carpenter said， “but I have many more bridges to build.”