Free My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Page B

round figure enshrouded in masses of hair falling in thick waves to within an inch or two of the knees. A very ugly spectacle, I thought. Aunt Helen turned the face of the large mirror flat against the wall, while I remarked despondently, “You can make me only middling ugly, you must be a magician.”
    â€œCome now, part of my recipe is that you must not think of yourself at all. I’ll take you in hand in the morning. I hope you will like your room; I have arranged it on purpose to suit you. And now good night, and happy dreams.”
    I awoke next morning in very fine spirits and, slithering out of my bed with alacrity, reveled—literally wallowed—in theappointments of my room. My poor old room at Possum Gully was lacking in barest necessaries. We could not afford even a hand-wash basin and jug; Gertie, the boys, and I had to perform our morning ablutions in a leaky tin dish on a stool outside the kitchen door, which on cold frosty mornings was a pretty peppery performance. But this room contained everything dear to the heart of girlhood. A lovely bed, pretty slippers, dainty white China matting and many soft skins on the floor, and in one corner a most artistic toilet set and a wash stand liberally supplied with a great variety of soap—some of it so exquisitely perfumed that I felt tempted to taste it. There were pretty pictures on the walls, and on a commodious dressing table a big mirror and large hand-glasses, with their faces to the wall at present. Hairpins, fancy combs, ribbons galore, and a pretty work basket greeted my sight, and with delight I swooped down upon the most excruciatingly lovely little writing desk. It was stuffed full with all kinds of paper of good quality—fancy, all colors, sizes, and shapes, plain, foreign note—pens, ink, and a generous supply of stamps. I felt like writing a dozen letters there and then, and was on the point of giving way to my inclination, when my attention was arrested by what I considered the gem of the whole turnout. I refer to a nice little bookcase containing copies of all our Australian poets, and two or three dozen novels which I had often longed to read. I read the first chapters of four of them, and then lost myself in Gordon, and sat on my dressing table in my nightgown, regardless of cold, until brought to my senses by the breakfast bell. I made great pace, scrambled into my clothes helter-skelter, and appeared at table when the others had been seated and unfolded their serviettes.
    Aunt Helen’s treatment for making me presentable was the wearing of gloves and a shady hat every time I went outside; and she insisted upon me spending a proper time over my toilet, and would not allow me to encroach upon it with the contents of my bookshelf.
    â€œRub off some of your gloomy pessimism and cultivate a little more healthy girlish vanity, and you will do very well,” she would say.
    I observedthese rites most religiously for three days. Then I contracted a slight attack of influenza, and in poking around the kitchen, doing one of the things I oughtn’t at the time I shouldn’t, a servant girl tipped a pot of boiling pot-liquor over my right foot, scalding it rather severely. Aunt Helen and Grannie put me to bed, where I yelled with pain for hours like a mad Red Indian despite their applying every alleviative possible. The combined forces of the burn and influenza made me a trifle dicky, so a decree went forth that I was to stay in bed until recovered from both complaints. This effectually prevented me from running in the way of any looking glasses.
    I was not sufficiently ill to be miserable, and being a pampered invalid was therefore fine fun. Aunt Helen was a wonderful nurse. She dressed my foot splendidly every morning and put it in a comfortable position many times throughout the day. Grannie brought me every dainty in the house and sent special messengers to Gool-Gool for more. Had I been a professional glutton I