When St. John Bosco was ordained he was invited to preach at a distant parish. To get there he would need to either hire an carriage or ride a horse. He chose a horse, for ever since his student days he had considered himself a good horseman.

But is would turn out to be an unforgettable trip. What follows is Don Bosco's own account of what happened along the way:

I had already covered half the distance at a fast clip when suddenly a flock of sparrows swished up in front of me. My horse took fright and dashed across the fields, taking hedges and ditches in his stride.

To my horror, the saddle kept slipping until the bellyband broke, the saddle fell off, and I was thrown on a pile of stone, landing on my head. I lay there for sometime, unconscious and unable to move. Fortunately for me, someone had seen the fall. From a nearby farmhouse a man ran out and with the help of friends brought me to a house and laid me on a couch.

"Where am I?" I asked when I came to.

"You’re among friends." The man assured me. "The doctor will be here soon, so don’t worry."

"I don’t think there’s much wrong with me." I said. "At most I may have a broken collar-bone for I can’t move my arm. But, tell me, where am I?"

"You’re at the Brina Farmhouse," answered the man, "so just take it easy. I’ve been around and more than once have needed a little help myself. You’ve no idea of the things that can happen to a man going to the fairs."

"While we’re waiting for the doctor," I suggested, "Why not tell me about some of them."

"I remember one autumn I went to buy stores for the winter," he began. "On my way back I was coming over hilly country when my poor beast fell into a ditch. I tried to drag him out but he was in too deep and it was useless. Midnight came and a bitter wind blew across the hills. Worse still, it began to rain. I was desperate for I couldn’t see how I was going to get out of such a mess. The only thing left was to say a prayer and call for help.

"Although I had very little hope of anyone coming to that deserted spot in the middle of the night, I started to shout for help. Imagine what I felt when I saw several lights bouncing up and down in the darkness! Someone had heard my call for help!"

"In a very short time they had unloaded the beast, dragged it out of the ditch, and brought both of us to their house. I was half dead and splattered with mud, but these people helped me clean up, gave me a hot meal, and to top it off made me sleep in the best bed in the house! The next morning I thanked them and asked them what I could do to repay their kindness."

" ‘The best way to repay us,’ said one of them who told me he was in the seminary, ‘is to help the next man you meet who needs it. Maybe one day even we ourselves may want help from you.’ "

When I heard the story, I was so moved that the man noticed it. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No, no," I assured him. "It’s not my wounds that are affecting me. It’s the story you’ve just told me. Do you, by any chance, remember the name of that family?"

"Bosco I think," he said, "Bosco it is! And if that seminarian is still alive, I’ll bet he’s a good priest today."

Again I could hardly control my feelings. "My friend," I told him before he could become upset, "the seminarian who helped you then is the priest you’re helping now!"

The man could scarcely believe his ears but I had no trouble proving to him I was indeed that person. When the rest of the family heard the story they were all deeply moved. It was an excellent lesson to everyone in Christian charity.

In the midst of all these the doctor arrived. He pronounced me whole, although he advised me not to move for a day or two. A few days later when it was time to go I felt like I was leaving my own relatives.

Besides the lesson in charity, that accident taught me a still more important lesson. It taught me that when I went out to preach I should put aside my own ambition and have at heart only one aim: the glory of God and the salvation of souls.