Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1917-07-17

English newspapers, and knew a vast
deal more about Craven than that man
would have cared to credit-who,
when alls said, wasn't lightly to be
termed man of retiring disposition.
Thus the discovery that he had a
daughter (and why not a wife living
as wellO was one tremendously it'll
lating; for trade In gossip about nota-
bilities goes on as briskly between
decks on fashionable Atlantic steam
ships as below stairs In fashionable
homes on either side of the water.
But Craven's daughter, forgetful of
the serving woman, sat with eyes Sc
rene in a face radiant with the glow
of happiness in her heart. Never a
doubt troubled her ardent anticipa-
lions. That ominous note which had
been sounded in the brief conversation
outside her window was now forgot
ten-at worst could not have shaken
her faith in his loving kindness. That
was something always to be counted
upon, something that had never
failed her. And If his attitude of late
might have seemed inconsistent with
truly sympathetic affection, Lydia
knew better: her father had not so
much opposed her wishes as he had
underestimate the sincerity of her
mutiny against the rule of Agnes Hicks
Lorrimer.
How could 1t be otherwise, with a
gap of five long years in their associa-
ton, five years of separation, change
and growth7
His thought aroused appreciation of
the great changes time had wrought:
so great that 1t wasn't difficult to fancy
Craven failing to recognize his daugh-
ter, whose memory with him must be
that of hobbledehoy of fifteen, long
legged and awkward, with perpetually
freckled snub nose, mouth too wide,
and eyes too large for her thin face,
and her hair In plaits-two wrist-thick
cables of 1t falling below her waist,
carroty red, and bound with broad but
terfly bows of stiff blue ribbon.
Mrs. Hicks-Lorrimer' idea, that of
the butterfly bows-the final touch of
ignominyl Lydia dated her hatred of
the woman from the hour when she
had been compelled to submit to those
unspeakable decorations.
But today-Lydia smiled tenderly.
No; Craven wouldn't know his girl
not until she told him-unless, to be
sure, she had grown somewhat to re-
semble her mother, who had been a ia
nous beauty-or so Mrs. Grummle of
the Bloomsbury lodgings had asser-
vated-and so Craven himself, under
pressure of persistent questioning, had
once admitted.
Winant, rising from her knees, dis
PEELED reverie. as that all, Miss Cra-
ven?"
Lydia smiled brilliantly. "That's
right" she affirmed with decision. Let
me be Miss Craven from now on. Do
you think you could find my father for
me. Winant?"
"Oh, surely, MISS" Winant preserved
straight face. "Would you wish me
to send i'm to you 'ere?"
"Oh, no. I merely want to know
where to look for him. But to send
him here to find me-why-don't you
see?-that would spoil 1t all !"
"Quite so, miss. 1 won't be a min
ute"
To Lydia, waiting with eyes shin
ing and lips tremulous with anticipa-
ton, entered unexpectedly her Dowager
Dragon; and entering, for the first and
only time in their association betrayed
no signs of some slight embarrassment
and bewilderment.
'Heaven help our home !" Mrs. Beg
garstaff cried, thunderstruck. "Where
are you going, child?"
ION deck, probably" Lydia informed
her with a twinkle of mischief. -
''But-my blessed income"
Dear Mrs. Beggarstaff," Lydia in
terposed impulsively, 81 must tell you,
something has appened-something so
wonderful and delightful that 1 verify
believe 1t would have got me out of bed
had been at the point of DEATH :"
'POh :" exclaimed the Dowager
Dragon impatiently. Surprise faded in
her eyes, and was replaced by some
thing strangely like disappointment.
With a quick movement she closed the
door and sat down on her bed. "Non-
sense !" she added with unaccountable
irritation, looking the excited young
woman up and down. "My dear, you're