Involuntarily the Bishop’s hand went to his temple in a gesture of pain, then instantly was forced down. He hesitated, then at length, “‘Never’ is such a long word,” he said. “Sometimes God says it for us, but don’t--don’t let us ever say it for ourselves! You know,” a passing tremor ran along his lips, “He didn’t let me have the grandchild I hoped for, but don’t--don’t lose having yours. It seems as if I couldn’t let you go on losing,--that. I am in such a hurry somehow to-day. Can’t you go out there to-day, now? Take the baby the Christmas present his mother most wants for him, take him his grandmother!” She turned on him, intense, “Bishop, do you know what it’s like to make up with a person who’s done you wrong? Do you know what it feels like to forgive? A person who’d hurt you? Where you care most?” A moment he groped in past experience for the answer, then in a rush of realization it came upon him. He rose a little unsteadily, that he, too, might stand to face her, as she stood by the curtained recess of the window, where the searchlight of the Christmas sun fell relentless on the drawn intensity of her plump face. The Bishop’s lean, corded hands rested on the two ebony knobs of the chair back. He did not notice, nor did she, that he swayed slightly with a passing dizziness. “Yes,” he answered slowly, thinking of one he soon must see to-day, “I know how it feels. Yes, I have had to learn, how to forgive--where I cared most!” “How did you make yourself do it? How?” He would have evaded if he could. “I only know the old way,” he said humbly, for the Bishop was shy in speaking of some things, as one is shy in speaking about any friend in his presence. “Tell me how!” “I only know one way,” he repeated simply. “We all get at the truth from different angles, so there may be many ways to learn to forgive, but I can only tell you about the way that I have tried.” The Bishop was so old that often, as now, his eyes showed the reflection of the harbor-lights in view. As always in his sermons, he had now lost, in his very consciousness of their needs, the presence of his audience in the overwhelming Presence of which he forced himself to speak, “The way I have found is to try always to see through His eyes. I think He is always very near us, trying always to lift us to the level of His eyes, so that we can look forth from that point of view. I think He is always trying and trying to say things to us to excuse--the people who have hurt us. If only we could clear our ears to hear Him! If only we could stand at the level of His outlook into souls! Then we should see so much that’s pitiable and excusable, so many handicaps and mistakes, so much to make us sorry for them that we couldn’t help forgiving. He always saw enough in every soul to make Him patient, and if we don’t see enough to make us patient, too, we have to trust His vision and insight, and forgive because He does.