attle now and
then," said Frank.

"But, mamma," said Violet, earnestly, "they had the pillar of cloud, and
the pillar of fire, and the Angel of the Covenant going before. Why
should we suppose they needed the help of Hobab?"

"God helps them that help themselves, Letty, dear," said Jem.

"Gently, Jem," said his mother; "speak reverently, my boy. Yes, Letty,
they were miraculously guarded and guided; but we do not see that they
were allowed to fold their hands and do nothing. God fought for them,
and they fought for themselves. And as for Hobab, he must have been a
good and brave man, as David says, and so the chances are he went with
the people, thinking less of what he could get for himself than of what
he could do for others, as is the way with good and brave men."

"Like the people we read about in books," said Jem.

"Yes; and like some of the people we meet in real life," said his
mother, smiling. "The men who even in the eyes of the world are the
best and bravest, are the men who have forgotten themselves and their
own transitory interests to live or die for the sake of others."

"Like Moses, when he pleaded that the people might not be destroyed,
even though the Lord said He would make him the father of a great
nation," said David.

"Like Paul," said Violet, "who `counted not his life dear to him,' and
who was willing `to spend and be spent,' though the more abundantly he
loved the people, the less he was loved."

"Like Leonidas with his three hundred heroes."

"Like Curtius, who leapt into the gulf."

"Like William Tell and John Howard."

"Like a great many missionaries," said Violet. And a great many more
were mentioned.

"But, aunt," said Frank, "you said like a great many people we meet in
real life. I don't believe I know a single man like that--one who
forgets himself, and lives for others. Tell me one."

"Papa," said David, softly. His mother smiled.

"It seems to me that all true Christians ought to be like that--men who
do not live to please themselves--who desire most of all to do God's
work among their fellow-men," said she, gravely.

Frank drew a long breath.

"Then I am afraid I don't know many Christians, Aunt Inglis."

"My boy, perhaps you are not a good judge, and I daresay you have never
thought much about the matter."

"No, I have not. But now that I do think of it, I cannot call to mind
any one--scarcely any one who would answer to that description. It
seems to