The Story of My Life
perhaps, tax her brain so much, although I suspect that the ordinary
child takes his play pretty seriously. The little fellow who whirls his
"New York Flyer" round the nursery, making "horseshoe curves" undreamed
of by less imaginative engineers, is concentrating his whole soul on his
toy locomotive.
She just came to say, with a worried expression, "Girl--not count
very large (many) words." I said, "No, go and play with Nancy." This
suggestion didn't please her, however; for she replied, "No. Nancy is
very sick." I asked what was the matter, and she said, "Much (many)
teeth do make Nancy sick." (Mildred is teething.)
I happened to tell her the other day that the vine on the fence was a
"creeper." She was greatly amused, and began at once to find analogies
between her movements and those of the plants. They run, creep, hop, and
skip, bend, fall, climb, and swing; but she tells me roguishly that she
is "walk-plant."
Helen held some worsted for me last night while I wound it. Afterward
she began to swing round and round, spelling to herself all the time,
"Wind fast, wind slow," and apparently enjoying her conceit very much.
June 15, 1887.
We had a glorious thunder-tempest last night, and it's much cooler
to-day. We all feel refreshed, as if we'd had a shower-bath. Helen's as
lively as a cricket. She wanted to know if men were shooting in the sky
when she felt the thunder, and if the trees and flowers drank all the
rain.
June 19, 1887.
My little pupil continues to manifest the same eagerness to learn as at
first. Her every waking moment is spent in the endeavour to satisfy her
innate desire for knowledge, and her mind works so incessantly that we
have feared for her health. But her appetite, which left her a few weeks
ago, has returned, and her sleep seems more quiet and natural. She will
be seven years old the twenty-seventh of this month. Her height is
four feet one inch, and her head measures twenty and one-half inches in
circumference, the line being drawn round the head so as to pass over
the prominences of the parietal and frontal bones. Above this line the
head rises one and one-fourth inches.
During our walks she keeps up a continual spelling, and delights to
accompany it with actions such as skipping, hopping, jumping, running,
walking fast, walking slow, and the like. When she drops stitches she
says, "Helen wrong, teacher will cry." If she wants water she says,
"Give Helen drink water." She knows four hundred words besides numerous
proper nouns. In one lesson I taught her these words: BEDSTEAD,
MATTRESS, SHEET, BLANKET, COMFORTER, SPREAD, PILLOW. The next day I
found that she remembered all but spread. The same day she had learned,
at different times, the words: hOUSE, WEED, DUST, SWING, MOLASSES, FAST,
SLOW, MAPLE-SUGAR and COUNTER, and she had not forgotten one of these
last. This will give you an idea of the retentive memory she possesses.
She can count to thirty very quickly, and can write seven of the
square-hand letters and the words which can be made with them. She seems
to understand about writing letters, and is impatient to "write Frank
letter." She enjoys punching holes in paper with the stiletto, and I
supposed it was because she could examine the result of her work; but we
watched her one day, and I was much surprised to find that she imagined
she was writing a letter. She would spell "Eva" (a cousin of whom she
is very fond) with one hand, then make believe to write it; then spell,
"sick in bed," and write that. She kept this up for nearly an hour.
She was (or imagined she was) putting on paper the things which had
interested her. When she had finished the letter she carried it to her
mother and spelled, "Frank letter," and gave it to her brother to
take to the post-office. She had been with me to take letters to the
post-office.
She recognizes instantly a person whom she has once met, and spells the
name. Unlike Laura Bridgman, she is fond of gentlemen, and we notice
that she makes friends with a gentleman sooner than with a lady.
She is always ready to share whatever she has with those about her,
often keeping but very little for herself. She is very fond of dress
and of all kinds of finery, and is very unhappy when she finds a hole in
anything she is wearing. She will insist on having her hair put in curl
papers when she is so sleepy she can scarcely stand. She discovered a
hole in her boot the other morning, and, after breakfast, she went to
her father and spelled, "Helen new boot Simpson (her brother) buggy
store man." One can easily see her meaning.
July 3, 1887.
There was a great rumpus downstairs this morning. I heard Helen
screaming, and ran down to see what was the matter. I found her in a
terrible passion. I had hoped this would never happen again. She has
been so gentle and obedient the past two months, I thought love had
subdued the lion; but it seems he was only sleeping. At all events,
there she was, tearing and scratching and biting Viney like some wild
thing. It seems Viney had attempted to take a glass, which Helen was
filling with stones, fearing that she would break it. Helen resisted,
and Viney tried to force it out of her hand, and I suspect that she
slapped the child, or did something which caused this unusual outburst
of temper. When I took her hand she was trembling violently, and began
to cry. I asked what was the matter, and she spelled: "Viney--bad,"
and began to slap and kick her with renewed violence. I held her hands
firmly until she became more calm.
Later Helen came to my room, looking very sad, and wanted to kiss me. I
said, "I cannot kiss naughty girl." She spelled, "Helen is good, Viney
is bad." I said: "You struck Viney and kicked her and hurt her. You were
very naughty, and I cannot kiss naughty girl." She stood very still
for a moment, and it was evident from her face, which was flushed and
troubled, that a struggle was going on in her mind. Then she said:
"Helen did (does) not love teacher. Helen do love mother. Mother will
whip Viney." I told her that she had better not talk about it any more,
but think. She knew that I was much troubled, and would have liked to
stay near me; but I thought it best for her to sit by herself. At
the dinner-table she was greatly disturbed because I didn't eat, and
suggested that "Cook make tea for teacher." But I told her that my heart
was sad, and I didn't feel like eating. She began to cry and sob and
clung to me.
She was very much excited when we went upstairs; so I tried to interest
her in a curious insect called a stick-bug. It's the queerest thing I
ever saw--a little bundle of fagots fastened together in the middle. I
wouldn't believe it was alive until I saw it move. Even then it looked
more like a mechanical toy than a living creature. But the poor little
girl couldn't fix her attention. Her heart was full of trouble, and she
wanted to talk about it. She said: "Can bug know about naughty girl? Is
bug very happy?" Then, putting her arms round my neck, she said: "I am
(will be) good to-morrow. Helen is (will be) good all days." I said,
"Will you tell Viney you are very sorry you scratched and kicked her?"
She smiled and answered, "Viney (can) not spell words." "I will tell
Viney you are very sorry," I said. "Will you go with me and find Viney?"
She was very willing to go, and let Viney kiss her, though she didn't
return the caress. She has been unusually affectionate since, and it
seems to me there is a sweetness-a soul-beauty in her face which I have
not seen before.
July 31, 1887.
Helen's pencil-writing is excellent, as you will see from the enclosed
letter, which she wrote for her own amusement. I am teaching her the
braille alphabet, and she is delighted to be able to make words herself
that she can feel.
She has now reached the question stage of her development. It is "what?"
"why?" "when?" especially "why?" all day long, and as her intelligence
grows her inquiries become more insistent. I remember how unbearable I
used to find the inquisitiveness of my friends' children; but I know now
that these questions indicate the child's growing interest in the cause
of things. The "why?" is the DOOR THROUGH WHICH HE ENTERS THE WORLD OF
REASON AND REFLECTION. "How does carpenter know to build house?" "Who
put chickens in eggs?" "Why is Viney black?" "Flies bite--why?" "Can
flies know not to bite?" "Why did father kill sheep?" Of course she asks
many questions that are not as intelligent as these. Her mind isn't more
logical than the minds of ordinary children. On the whole, her questions
are analogous to those that a bright three-year-old child asks; but her
desire for knowledge is so earnest, the questions are never tedious,
though they draw heavily upon my meager store of information, and tax my
ingenuity to the utmost.
I had a letter from Laura Bridgman last Sunday. Please give her my
love, and tell her Helen sends her a kiss. I read the letter at the
supper-table, and Mrs. Keller exclaimed: "My, Miss Annie, Helen writes
almost as well as that now!" It is true.
August 21, 1887.
We had a beautiful time in Huntsville. Everybody there was delighted
with Helen, and showered her with gifts and kisses. The first evening
she learned the names of all the people in the hotel, about twenty, I
think. The next morning we were astonished to find that she remembered
all of them, and recognized every one she had met the night before. She
taught the young people the alphabet, and several of them learned to
talk with her. One of the girls taught her to dance the polka, and a
little boy showed her his rabbits and spelled their names for her. She
was delighted, and showed her pleasure by hugging and kissing the little
fellow, which embarrassed him very much.
We had Helen's picture taken with a fuzzy, red-eyed little poodle, who
got himself into my lady's good graces by tricks and cunning devices
known only to dogs with an instinct for getting what they want.
She has talked incessantly since her return about what she did in
Huntsville, and we notice a very decided improvement in her ability
to use language. Curiously enough, a drive we took to the top of Monte
Sano, a beautiful mountain not far from Huntsville, seems to have
impressed her more than anything else, except the wonderful poodle.
She remembers all that I told her about it, and in telling her mother
REPEATED THE VERY WORDS AND PHRASES I HAD USED IN DESCRIBING IT TO HER.
In conclusion she asked her mother if she should like to see "very high
mountain and beautiful cloudcaps." I hadn't used this expression. I
said, "The clouds touch the mountain softly, like beautiful flowers."
You see, I had to use words and images with which she was familiar
through the sense of touch. But it hardly seems possible that any mere
words should convey to one who has never seen a mountain the faintest
idea of its grandeur; and I don't see how any one is ever to know what
impression she did receive, or the cause of her pleasure in what was
told her about it. All that we do know certainly is that she has a good
memory and imagination and the faculty of association.
August 28, 1887.
I do wish things would stop being born! "New puppies," "new calves" and
"new babies" keep Helen's interest in the why and wherefore of things at
white heat. The arrival of a new baby at Ivy Green the other day was the
occasion of a fresh outburst of questions about the origin of babies and
live things in general. "Where did Leila get new baby? How did doctor
know where to find baby? Did Leila tell doctor to get very small new
baby? Where did doctor find Guy and Prince?" (puppies) "Why is Elizabeth
Evelyn's sister?" etc., etc. These questions were sometimes asked under
circumstances which rendered them embarrassing, and I made up my mind