Her Father's Daughter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

“Yes,” said Linda. “The man who was the author of half-dozen books that have been translated into many foreign tongues and are used as authorities all over the world. He happened to be my father. There are two children in our family. I have a sister four years older than I am who is exactly like Mother, and she and Mother were inseparable. I am exactly like Father; because we understood each other, and because both of us always knew, although we never mentioned it, that Mother preferred my sister Eileen to me, Father tried to make it up to me, so from the time I can remember I was at his heels. It never bothered him to have me playing around in the library while he was writing his most complicated treatise. I have waited in his car half a day at a time, playing or reading, while he watched a patient or delivered a lecture at some medical college. His mental relaxation was to hike or to motor to the sea, to the mountains, to the canyons or the desert, and he very seldom went without me even on long trips when he was fishing or hunting with other men. There was not much to know concerning a woman’s frame or her psychology that Father did not know, so there were two reasons why he selected my footwear as he did. One was because he be believed high heels and pointed toes an outrage against the nervous system of a woman that would in time bring her within his province, and the other was that I could not possibly have kept pace with him except in shoes like these. No doubt, they are the same kind I shall wear all my life, for walking. You probably don’t know it, but my home lies near the middle of Lilac Valley and I walk over a mile each morning and evening to and from the cars. Does this sufficiently explain my shoes?”

“I should think you’d feel queer,” said Donald.

“I suspect I would if I had time to brood over it,” Linda replied, “but I haven’t. I must hustle to get to school on time in the morning. It’s nearly or quite dark before I reach home in the evening. My father believed in having a good time. He had superb health, so he spent most of what he made as it came to him. He counted on a long life. It never occurred to him that a little piece of machinery going wrong would plunge him into Eternity in a second.”

“Oh, I remember!” cried the boy.

Linda’s face paled slightly.

“Yes,” she said, “it happened four years ago and I haven’t gotten away from the horror of it yet, enough ever to step inside of a motor car; but I am going to get over that one of these days. Brakes are not all defective, and one must take one’s risks.”

“You just bet I would,” said Donald. “Motoring is one of the greatest pleasures of modern life. I’ll wager it makes some of the gay old boys, like Marcus Aurelius for example, want to turn over in their graves when they see us flying along the roads of California the way we do.”

“What I was getting at,” said Linda, “was a word of reply to the remainder of your indictment against me. Dad’s income stopped with him, and household expenses went on, and war came, so there isn’t enough money to dress two of us as most of the High-School girls are dressed. Eileen is so much older that it’s her turn first, and I must say she is not at all backward about exercising her rights. I think that will have to suffice for the question of dress; but you may be sure that I am capable of wearing the loveliest dress imaginable, that would be suitable for a school girl, if I had it to wear.”

“Ah, there’s the little ‘fly in your ointment’—‘dress that would be suitable.’ I bet in your heart you think the dresses that half the girls in high school are wearing are not suitable!”

“Commendable perspicacity, O learned senior,” said Linda, “and amazingly true. In the few short years I had with Daddy I acquired a fixed idea as to what kind of dress is suitable and sufficiently durable to wear while walking my daily two miles. I can’t seem to become reconciled to the custom of dressing the same for school as for a party. You get my idea?”