[XXV. The Good Samaritan]
There was once a lonely man, walking in Palestine on the mountainous road between Jerusalem and Jericho.
He had no one with him, and his heart sank as he recalled the stories of the wild men who lived in the caves, and came out to rob unfortunate travellers who passed that way.
The silence was unbroken, and as he looked from side to side and hurried along, he began to hope that he might reach Jericho without mishap.
The road lay between steep hills and mountains, and there were sharp corners and jutting rocks all along the way, which would hide any number of the robbers who haunted the place.
But all his fears and all his anxious, watchful glances were of no use. Suddenly a band of thieves sprang out of their hiding-place behind him, and in a moment they surrounded him, robbed him of all his property, and, as he evidently resisted them with all his might, they not only robbed him, but cruelly wounded him, and then made off, leaving him by the roadside, half dead.
Sad indeed was his plight, lying there in the glaring sunshine, aching with pain and consumed with thirst. "Would no one come to help him?" he sadly thought.
Yes—he heard footsteps coming down the stony path, and as they drew nearer and nearer, his hope began to revive. Surely some kind man would take pity on him!
And then the steps came close to him, and at last, as he lifted his weary eyes, he saw one of the Jewish priests standing for an instant, arrested by the sad sight, but, when the priest saw him, he passed by on the other side of the road, and went away.
So the lonely man lay there, still suffering and uncared for.