The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1865-10-13

$50 - ""N NCHt away CT glbB
like child.
Then Janet was all, all alone. and
thought that she should die. When
her tears refused to flow so freely as
at hrst, which not for many days, she
found some comfort in an old Piano.
sweet toned thing, and very, very
shabby, that stood in the parlor of
her boarding house. But her songs
were always sad A wounded bird
dying IN her nest and calling for her
mate, could not have uttered notes
more pitiful to listen to- Only now
and then, when a letter came, she
frightened up for awhile. But at last
SIX months were gone, and there came
no letter. The ship must be az hand
that of course was it, He, Charlie,
would be here very, very soon. But
no Charlie came. Those who waited
for the Bonnie Lnssie saw her not.
No letter, no Charlie Another month
-anotber-another still no news
One morning she stood by the window
watching, and the landlady came to
her She was a good woman, and hes
itated to speak; but her boarding
house only kept her out Of poverty,
and this blue-eyed girl was a boarder
after all SO she said:
Mrs Oliver, l don't like to tell you,
but but
oh, you've heard i'll nows of Char
lieN And Janet, turning with ashen
check, chung to her arm.
No, my dear o no. thank good
ness, it's quite different Your hus-
band paid your board for six months
in advance you know.
Yes.
Well--ahem--it's nearly ten
months since he went, and I'm quite
poor, and Tn often cheated, very often,
and the fact is, can you pay me?
Il? O no Charles Mr. Oliver
will settle with you the moment he re-
turns
Yes but it's no use mincing mat
ters, my dear Id be glad to wait
But are you sure he viii come back
The sea is trcachcrous, and they say,
sailors are also "a wife in every port.
There, now, don't take on Haven't
you relations, or somebody who will
help you?
My father, I'll go to my father,
said poor Janet He will forgive me
now
And she left the house as weary
child might have done, longing for
that good old home that used to be
her shelter Far out of town the
homestead stood, and its doors were
locked and its windows barred against
her. 4 strange servant came at her
summons. She had anticipated that,
and written few lines begging that
he would see her. They were re-
turned to her On the envelope was
written, ! have no longer a daughter;
she is dead to me-
Janet Oliver went back to the city
boarding house, and there that nirht
babe was born to her-a ,..;,;n,
thing that struggled for - 10 and woT
it at last; and Janet. ooldino i oaoip .
nei uie's,' ,ei' lat a fragment Of hei
onaflie 8 i'' lay there, and chung tc
= 90 ~.rowning man will cling to the
lrailest floating thing. But for those
little hands, those strange, ignol ant
eyes, that precious nothing holding
the embryo soul, Charlie divers wife
would have let go of life and foated
away upon the sea of death that night.
Her baby kept her alive And now
her watch, her rings, her little jewelled
keepsakes began to go-by and by her
costlier clothes, the white furs she
had wrapped herself in that night
when she eloped with him. One by
one everything went, save some cotton
gowns, her hood, and n large shawl.
At last came the climax
She stood with her babe before the
landscape, and the woman said tho
not unkindly:
Mrs Oliver, am sorry for you; but
you have father and he must keep
you. l can't And Janet took her
child and went out into the midwinter
day. She had no hope of her fathers
pity, but, she said, Owe can die, my
child and |, within sight of the old
house; and perhaps he will forgive
when he sees me dead" Then an
other hope entered her soul; she would
wrap the child up carefully; the little
one might live, and he would have
mercy on that for its innocence.
Poor girl, he had no money for a
stage-fare; She plodded on through