The Daily empire. (Dayton, Ohio) 1865-1867, 1865-12-23
The Window on the Porch.



She left the house as a weary child miDht
have done, longing for that good old breast
that used to be her shelter. Far out of
town that homestead stood, and its doors
were locked aud its windows barred against
her. A strange servant came ut her sum-
mons. She had anticipated that, and writ
ten q few lines begging that her father
would see her. They were returned to her,
and on the envelope was written:
Il have no longer a daughter. She is
dead to me-" N
Janet Oliver went back TO the city board
lng-house. and there that night babe was
borne to her-a wailing thing that strup-
gled for life and won II at last, and Janet,
holding II to her breast, felt that frag-
ment Of her Charles life lay there. and
clung to II as drowning men will cling to
the frailest floating. But for those little
hands, those strange Innocent ewes. that
precious nothing holding the embryo soul.
Charlie divers wife would have let go of
life and floated away upon the sea of death
that night. Her babe kept her alive.
And now her watch. her rings and her
Titled jeweled keepsakcs began to 90 and
by-and-by her costlier clothes, the white
furs she had wrapped herself In when she
eloped that night with Charlie. One by
one everything. went save some cotton
dresses. her hood and large shawl.
At last came the climax She stood with
her baby before the landlady. who said.
firmly though not unkindly-
"Mrs. Oliver, | am sorry for Won: but Won
have father and he must Keep YOU. as
can't"
Janet took her child and went out into
the midwinter afternoon. She had no hope
Of her fathers pity. but she said
I'VE can die, my child and |. within SIGHT
OF the old house; and perhaps he NAV for
give me when he sees me dead"
Then another hope entered her soul: she
would wrap the child up carefully, the lit
tie one might live. he would have mercy on
that for its innocence.
Poor girl she had no money for stage
fare; she plOdded on through the cold
streets and out upon the weary road for
hours; and II grew dark and darker: ei9ht
was rrung from the city clocks. nine. ten,
and only then, by the clear, frosty moon
light, she saw the roof of her fathers
homestead. with The elms about It rs leaf
less as they had been when she had fed
from IL with Charlie Oliver.
She had maturcd her plans. and dragged
her weary steps up the porch. Upon IL
those deep windows opened 10 the floor.
There she would lie down. and In the morn-
ing they would find her there dead, All
poor child. dare tell what she done il
was so wicked hut she was very miserable.
At the bottom Of her pocket lay q bottle
which was labeled ''laudanum."
At last she stood before those windows,
and one of them was open-wi,le open on a
night In midwnter.
God had opened ID for her SO she said.
And she knew not the strange truth Of her
words.
"Oh my home. she walled softly. Obi
my father. / will 90 In. | will lie in my
little bed l will die there, and my babe will
live, and all good angels help her TO be n
better child to her father than have been"
SO she crept In on tip toe, unfiistening
her shoes and leaving them without, that
she might make no noise.
She gained her little room. By the
moonlight she saw that II was lust as She
had left 10 and must have been carefully
kept from change. The sleeping babe was
laid upon the soft pillow, and then she
thOpgct of her garments In the bureau
drawers We're they there yetS IL would
be more seemly 10 die IN clean, fresh white
robes than In those trayel-stained clothes
which she wore. SO she peeped in and
found the white raiment. She put IL on.
then knelt down 70 pray-to pray with
vial OF poison In her white hand and with
mad suicide In her heart.
As she knelt she faced the door, and us
her eye glanced thither, she saw a light
flashing upand down the wall. and heard
footstep. Could Il be her fatherY She
erept 70 the door and looked. Along the
passage came the man servant bearing a
light, coming very stealthlly, with a strange
look In his fa0e--the strange man servant
who had turned her nom the door by her
mther's orders, months before, aud whose