My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin (book recommendations TXT) 📕

“I’m not the boss,” said uncle with assumed fierceness.

“Then who is?” inquired the man.

Uncle pointed his thumb at me, and, rolling out on the floor again as though very sleepy, began to snore. The tramp grinned, and made his request of me. I took him round to the back, served him with flour, beef, and an inch or two of rank tobacco out of a keg which had been bought for the purpose. Refusing a drink of milk which I offered, he resumed his endless tramp with a “So long, little missy. God bless your pleasant face.”

I watched him out of sight. One of my brothers⁠—one of God’s children under the Southern Cross. Did these old fellows really believe in the God whose name they mentioned so glibly? I wondered. But I am thankful that while at Caddagat it was only rarely that my old top-heavy thoughts troubled me. Life was so pleasant that I was content merely to be young⁠—a chit in the first flush of teens, health, hope, happiness, youth⁠—a heedless creature recking not for the morrow.

About a week or so after I first met Harold Beecham, aunt Helen allowed me to read a letter she had received from the elder of the two Misses Beecham. It ran as follows:

“My dearest Helen,

“This is a begging letter, and I am writing another to your mother at the same time. I am asking her to allow her granddaughter to spend a few weeks with me, and I want you to use your influence in the matter. Sarah has not been well lately, and is going to Melbourne for a change, and as I will be lonely while she is away Harold insists upon me having someone to keep me company⁠—you know how considerate the dear boy is. I hardly like to ask you to spare your little girl to me. It must be a great comfort to have her. I could have got Miss Benson to stay with me, but Harold will not hear of her. He says she is too slow, and would give us both the mopes. But he says your little niece will keep us all alive. Julius was telling me the other day that he could not part with her, as she makes ‘the old barracks,’ as he always calls Caddagat, echo with fun and noise. I am so looking forward to seeing her, as she is dear Lucy’s child. Give her my love,” etc., etc., and as a postscript the letter had⁠—“Harold will go up for Sybylla on Wednesday afternoon. I do hope you will be able to spare her to me for a while.”

“Oh, auntie, how lovely!” I exclaimed. “What are you laughing at?”

“For whom do you think Harry wants the companion? It is nice to have an old auntie, as a blind, is it not? Well, all is fair in love and war. You have permission to use me in any way you like.”

I pretended to miss her meaning.

Grannie consented to Miss Beecham’s proposal, and ere the day arrived I had a trunk packed with some lovely new dresses, and was looking forward with great glee to my visit to Five-Bob Downs.

One o’clock on Wednesday afternoon arrived; two o’clock struck, and I was beginning to fear no one was coming for me, when, turning to look out the window for the eighteenth time, I saw the straight blunt nose of Harold Beecham passing. Grannie was serving afternoon tea on the veranda. I did not want any, so got ready while my escort was having his.

It was rather late when we bowled away at a tremendous pace in a red sulky, my portmanteau strapped on at the back, and a thoroughbred American trotter, which had taken prizes at Sydney shows, harnessed to the front. We just whizzed! It was splendid! The stones and dust rose in a thick cloud from the whirling wheels and flying hoofs, and the posts of the wire fence on our left passed like magic as we went. Mr. Beecham allowed me to drive after a time while he sat ready to take the reins should an emergency arise.

It was sunset⁠—most majestic hour of the twenty-four⁠—when we drove up to the great white gates which opened into the avenue leading to the main homestead of Five-Bob Downs station⁠—beautiful far-reaching Five-Bob Downs! Dreamy blue hills rose behind, and wide rich flats stretched before, through which the Yarrangung river, glazed with sunset, could be seen like a silver snake winding between shrubberied banks. The odour from the six-acred flower-garden was overpowering and delightful. A breeze gently swayed the crowd of trees amid the houses, and swept over the great orchard which sloped down from the south side of the houses. In the fading sunlight thirty iron roofs gleamed and glared, and seemed like a little town; and the yelp of many dogs went up at the sound of our wheels. Ah! beautiful, beautiful Five-Bob Downs!

It seemed as though a hundred dogs leapt forth to greet us when that gate flew open, but I subsequently discovered there were but twenty-three.

Two female figures came out to meet us⁠—one nearly six feet high, the other, a tiny creature, seemed about eighteen inches, though, of course, was more than that.

“I’ve brought her, aunt Gussie,” said Harold, jumping out of the sulky, though not relinquishing the reins, while he kissed the taller figure, and the small one attached itself to his leg saying, “Dimme wide.”

“Hullo! Possum, why wasn’t old Spanker let go? I see he’s not among the dogs,” and my host picked the tiny individual up in his arms and got into the sulky to give her the desired ride, while after being embraced by Miss Beecham and lifted to the ground by her nephew, I went with the former over an asphalted tennis-court, through the wide garden, then across a broad veranda into the great, spreading, one-storeyed house from which