the side of _love_.... Think this over, and you'll know it is
true.... Now the Bolton mystery: A year ago we were holding a fair in
this village, which was sick and impoverished because it had never
forgiven the man who stole its money.... You all remember that
occasion. There were things to sell; but nobody had money to buy
them. It wasn't a pleasant occasion. Nobody was enjoying it, least of
all your minister. But a miracle took place-- There are miracles in
the world today, as there always have been, thank God! There came
into Brookville that day a person who was moved by love. Every
impulse of her heart; everything she did was inspired by that
mightiest force of the universe. She called herself Lydia Orr.... She
had been called Lydia Orr, as far back as she could remember; so she
did no wrong to anyone by retaining that name. But she had another
name, which she quickly found was a byword and a hissing in
Brookville. Was it strange that she shrank from telling it? She
believed in the forgiveness of sins; and she had come to right a
great wrong.... She did what she could, as it is written of another
woman, who poured out a fragrant offering of love unappreciated save
by One.... There quickly followed the last chapter in the
tragedy--for it was all a tragedy, friends, as I look at it: the
theft; the pitiful attempt to restore fourfold all that had been
taken; the return of that ruined man, Andrew Bolton, after his heavy
punishment; and his tragic death.... Some of you may not know all
that happened that night. You do know of the cowardly attack made
upon the helpless girl. You know of the flight of the terrified man,
of how he was found dead two days later three miles from the village,
in a lonely spot where he had perished from hunger and exposure....
The body was discovered by James Dodge, with the aid of his dog. With
him on that occasion was a detective from Boston, employed by Miss
Bolton, and myself. There was a sum of money found on the body
amounting to something over five thousand dollars. It had been
secreted beneath the floor of Andrew Bolton's chamber, before his
arrest and imprisonment. It is probable that he intended to make good
his escape, but failed, owing to the illness of his wife.... This is
a terrible story, friends, and it has a sad ending. Brookville had
never learned to forgive. It had long ago formed the terrible habits
of hate: suspicion, envy, sharp-tongued censure and the rest. Lydia
Bolton