lavished upon them without striving for it! Why was I ugly and nasty and
miserable and useless--without a place in the world?




CHAPTER NINE



Aunt Helen's Recipe


"Dear me, Sybylla, not in bed yet, and tears, great big tears! Tell me
what is the cause of them."

It was aunt Helen's voice; she had entered and lit the lamp.

There was something beautifully sincere and real about aunt Helen. She
never fussed over any one or pretended to sympathize just to make out how
nice she was. She was real, and you felt that no matter what wild or
awful rubbish you talked to her it would never be retailed for any one's
amusement--and, better than all, she never lectured.

She sat down beside me, and I impulsively threw my arms around her neck
and sobbed forth my troubles in a string. How there was no good in the
world, no use for me there, no one loved me or ever could on account of
my hideousness.

She heard me to the end and then said quietly, "When you are fit to