How keen was the mind of Christ! How quickly and unerringly He put his finger upon the very center of sin! It was easy to see, coming down the narrow camel path in the hills, the hated Samaritan with the spirit of justice, mercy, and brotherhood in his soul. He stopped—the man one would least expect to stop—and rescued with generous tenderness the suffering victim of thieves, while the servants of Jehovah and his law passed by on the other side, doing in that day even as, in all the days since, the followers of the letter and not of the spirit of the law have done. There was only one answer to the question the lawyer had asked of Jesus and he was forced to give it—“He that showed mercy.” I doubt if any who had heard the question, “But who is my neighbor?” ever forgot the answer, or the command that followed it: “Go and do thou likewise.” I was so lost in a new sense of the significance and sincerity of His wonderful teaching that I did not see our guide make his way toward the road. “A car comes,” he called, but we, lacking his desert-trained senses, heard nothing. Two or three minutes and we could see it coming rapidly along the white road on the farther hillside. The guide was overjoyed when he saw the new driver. “Ah!” he said, “this is the man I wanted. He drives anything that can go. Through the war he drove over hills with no road—always safe! He speaks English, too.” He examined the car. It had both windshield and horn. It had an extra tire and seats that were straight. Hope revived. “We shall now get quickly back to Jerusalem,” said the guide. “Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall have the carriage.” “To Jerusalem!” we said. “It is only one o’clock. With such a driver we can surely get to the Dead Sea and the Jordan. If it is late we can stay tonight at the Inn near Elijah’s Spring and go back to Jerusalem in the morning. Our time is short and we cannot take another whole day.” Jamil looked at the driver. “They are Americans,” he said, “and when they will go, they will go!” After a moment he added, “The sun has been very hot. Perhaps for you it has dried the roads.” So we climbed the steep grade, ran along a level strip, then a steeper grade to the Inn of the Good Samaritan where Arab traders and men of the caravans stop for coffee. There was a tank in the yard where one could buy gasoline! The road before us was down grade now, and the driver more than lived up to his reputation. Once Jamil turned to show us a Mohammedan mosque in ruins in a desolate spot high up in the hills and again to point out a tomb. “It is the tomb of Moses by the word of the Mohammedans,” he said; “but we do not believe it, for no man knoweth where God hath buried him. He never came into the land so we shall not believe it.”