stuff in him, after all. Yet everything not absolutely essential had to be
sacrificed. And his ideas of the meaning of that word "essential"
underwent radical changes as he labored up the steep.

Then the old teacher telling the story suddenly leaned over his desk and,
looking earnestly at the class, said, "When I was young I planned out my
life just as he planned out his climb. Food and clothing, and full records
of my experiences for the world's information, figured in big. But at
forty I cared only for such clothes as kept me warm, and at fifty only for
such food as kept me strong. And so steep was the climb up to the top I
had set my heart upon that at sixty I cared little for the opinions of
people, if only I might reach the top. And when I do reach it I shall not
care whether the world has a record of it or not. That record is in safety
above."

We laugh at the ambitious young Englishman. But will you kindly let me
say, plainly, without meaning to be critical in an unkind sense, that
most of us do just as he did. And will you listen softly, while I say
this--many of us, when we find we can't reach the top with our loads, let
the top go, and pitch our tents in the plain, and settle down with our
small plans and accessories. The plain seems to be quite full of tents.

The plan of the Swiss guides is the plan for the life-climb. It is the
plan, and the only one for us to follow in the world-winning climb. That
was Jesus' plan. He left behind and threw away everything that hindered,
and at the last threw away life itself, that so the world might find life.
We must follow Him.