On a winter afternoon, a friend and I were throwing stones onto the slanted roof of the old lady's house from a spot near her backyard. The object of our play was to observe how the stones changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky. I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and threw it out. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight not for the roof but for a small window on the old lady's back porch. At the sound of fractured glass, we knew we were in trouble. We turned tail and ran faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.

Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance. I have forgotten the name of an old lady, who was a customer on the paper route in my home town when I was a twelve-year-old boy. Yet it dwells in my memory that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I shall never forget.

I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken window in winter. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty for her misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to act comfortable in her presence.

I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the letter I didn't sign through the letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I could have the freedom of, once again, looking straight into the old lady's kind eyes.

I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I calculated would cover the cost of her window. I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that the seven dollars would cover the cost for repairing it.

The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return the warm smile that I was receiving from her. She thanked me for the paper and gave me a bag of cookies she had made herself. I thanked her and proceeded to eat the cookies as I continued my route.

After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it out of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned. Inside were the seven dollars and a short note that said, "I'm proud of you."