“Oh, I’m afraid! I’m afraid!” William Jones cried, shrinking back, as his father took his hand, in the act of leading him forward to lift him into a beautiful sleigh, that had just drove up to the door, and in which his mother and elder sister were already seated; their feet comfortably wrapped up in a warm buffalo robe.

“Afraid! what are you afraid of?” Mr. Jones asked, in a tone of surprise.

“Oh, I’m afraid the horses will run away—or that the sleigh will break. Indeed, I’d rather not go.”

“Do you not think that your mother, and sister Ellen, and myself, will be in just the danger you fear?”

“Yes.”

“And is not my son willing to share that danger with those he loves?”

“But why do you go, father, when there is danger?”

“We do not think that we shall be in any more real danger, while riding with two gentle horses, than we would be if we were sitting in the house, or walking in the street. But come, William; I cannot stand talking to you here; and it is quite necessary that you try to overcome your fears. So jump in, and take your place alongside of sister Ellen.”

“But, indeed, I would rather not go, father,” William urged, holding back.

Mr. Jones said no more, but took his boy up gently, though firmly, and placed him beside his sister. Then he got in himself,—took hold of the reins,—spoke to his two fine horses, and at once the whole party began to move off; the sleigh bells jingling a merry tune.

Poor little William clung, frightened, to his sister; and it was a good while before he could get over the idea that the very next moment they would all be thrown over and dashed to pieces. After a while, however, he got used to the motion of the sleigh, and seeing that they passed on so smoothly, safely, and merrily, the idea of danger gradually faded from his mind; and long before he reached his uncle’s house, he was enjoying the ride as much as the rest.

William’s cousins were all delighted to see him, and he spent with them one of the happiest days in his life.

And when the time came for Mr. Jones and his family to return, William parted, with a feeling of reluctance, from his happy playmates. As he again stood by the sleigh, and looked at the two stout horses that were harnessed to it, he felt his old fear stealing over his mind. But he was not only now ashamed of that fear, but felt that to indulge in it was not right. So, with his best effort, he restrained it—stepping resolutely into the sleigh.

The last “good-byes” said, Mr. Jones gave the word, and off they went. When about half of the way home, and at a time when even the lingering remains of William’s timidity had passed away, two wild young men, half intoxicated, came dashing along in another sleigh, at a most furious rate. Bent on mischief, and thoughtless of the harm they might occasion, they appeared determined to frighten the horses attached to other sleighs, and thereby cause those who were in them to be thrown out into the snow-banks.

It so happened that the sleigh in which were Mr. Jones and his family, were passing near a steep declivity, at the time these young men came up to them, and ran their horses so close upon those of Mr. Jones, that he was compelled either to be rolled down the bank, or receive the shock of their sleigh against his own. He chose the latter alternative. As the two vehicles struck each other, that of Mr. Jones was nearly thrown over, and it so happened that Ellen, who was much alarmed, lost her balance, and but for the fact that William, himself dreadfully frightened, seized hold of, and clung to her with all his strength, she would have been thrown down a very steep hill, and, perhaps, have been killed. As it was, however, no one was injured.

“If it hadn’t been for me,” William said, while they were all talking over the matter, on arriving at home, “Ellen would have been pitched head foremost down that steep bank.”

“But if you had staid at home,” his father remarked, “it would not have been in your power thus to have saved, perhaps, your sister’s life. And now, an’t you glad, my son, you were with us?”

“Yes, father, I am very glad now.”

“Suppose, William,” Mr. Jones asked, in a serious tone, “that in the effort to save your sister, you had yourself been thrown out of the sleigh, and badly hurt, would you then have been sorry that you went with us?”

William paused for some moments, with a thoughtful countenance. He was weighing the fear of bodily pain against his love for Ellen. At last he said, with the moisture dimming his eyes,

“No! I would not have been sorry, father.”

“Why not, William?”

“Because, I would only have been badly hurt; while, if I had not been along with her, sister might have been killed.”

“Very true, my dear boy! And now, you remember how often I have talked to you about selfishness, and what an evil thing this selfishness is?”

“Yes, father.”

“Well, this feeling of timidity, which you indulge so much, is a selfish feeling.”

“Selfish, father! How can that be?”

“Because there is nothing in it of self-sacrifice for the happiness or comfort of others.”

“I cannot understand you, father.”

“I do not know that it will be in my power to make you understand me fully, William. But I will try. You knew, this morning, that it would give your father and mother pleasure to have you with them, and also that your cousins would be delighted to see you. But your idle fear, lest some accident should happen, made you unwilling to go. You would not risk anything for the sake of others. If the great and good General Washington, when called upon to take command of the American army, had refused to do so, because there was danger of his being killed; cannot you see that in that feeling there would have been a strong principle of selfishness?”

“Oh, yes. If he had done so, he would have been very selfish. He would have thought more of personal safety than the good of his country.”

“Just so, William, will you think, when you grow up to be a man, if you do not conquer this timid feeling, which you now indulge. You must learn, for the good of others, to risk personal danger, and to be willing to bear pain of body as well as mind, if called upon to suffer while doing your duty to others. Of danger, it is not our place to think, when fully satisfied we are doing right; knowing that the Lord’s providence is over all, and that He will not suffer any harm to befall us that is not really for our good. Learn, also, this harder lesson,—a willingness to encounter bodily pain, and even great danger, for the good of others.”

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