The Story of My Life by Helen Keller (books to read for self improvement .TXT) 📕

snatched the letter and slapped the little hands soundly. Mrs. Keller took the baby in her arms, and when we had succeeded in pacifying her, I asked Helen, “What did you do to baby?” She looked troubled, and hesitated a moment before answering. Then she said: “Wrong girl did eat letter. Helen did slap very wrong girl.” I told her that Mildred was very small, and didn’t know that it was wrong to put the letter in her mouth.

“I did tell baby, no, no, much (many) times,” was Helen’s reply.

I said, “Mildred doesn’t understand your fingers, and we must be very gentle with her.”

She shook her head.

“Baby⁠—not think. Helen will give baby pretty letter,” and with that she ran upstairs and brought down a neatly folded sheet of braille, on which she had written some words, and gave it to Mildred, saying, “Baby can eat all words.”

September 18, 1887.

I do not wonder you were surprised to hear that I was going to write something for the report. I do not know myself how it happened, except that I got tired of saying “no,” and Captain Keller urged me to do it. He agreed with Mr. Anagnos that it was my duty to give others the benefit of my experience. Besides, they said Helen’s wonderful deliverance might be a boon to other afflicted children.

When I sit down to write, my thoughts freeze, and when I get them on paper they look like wooden soldiers all in a row, and if a live one happens along, I put him in a straitjacket. It’s easy enough, however, to say Helen is wonderful, because she really is. I kept a record of everything she said last week, and I found that she knows six hundred words. This does not mean, however, that she always uses them correctly. Sometimes her sentences are like Chinese puzzles; but they are the kind of puzzles children make when they try to express their half-formed ideas by means of arbitrary language. She has the true language-impulse, and shows great fertility of resource in making the words at her command convey her meaning.

Lately she has been much interested in colour. She found the word “brown” in her primer and wanted to know its meaning. I told her that her hair was brown, and she asked, “Is brown very pretty?” After we had been all over the house, and I had told her the colour of everything she touched, she suggested that we go to the henhouses and barns; but I told her she must wait until another day because I was very tired. We sat in the hammock; but there was no rest for the weary there. Helen was eager to know “more colour.” I wonder if she has any vague idea of colour⁠—any reminiscent impression of light and sound. It seems as if a child who could see and hear until her nineteenth month must retain some of her first impressions, though ever so faintly. Helen talks a great deal about things that she cannot know of through the sense of touch. She asks many questions about the sky, day and night, the ocean and mountains. She likes to have me tell her what I see in pictures.

But I seem to have lost the thread of my discourse. “What colour is think?” was one of the restful questions she asked, as we swung to and fro in the hammock. I told her that when we are happy our thoughts are bright, and when we are naughty they are sad. Quick as a flash she said, “My think is white, Viney’s think is black.” You see, she had an idea that the colour of our thoughts matched that of our skin. I couldn’t help laughing, for at that very moment Viney was shouting at the top of her voice:

“I long to sit on dem jasper walls
And see dem sinners stumble and fall!”

October 3, 1887.

My account for the report is finished and sent off. I have two copies, and will send you one; but you mustn’t show it to anybody. It’s Mr. Anagnos’s property until it is published.

I suppose the little girls enjoyed Helen’s letter.15 She wrote it out of her own head, as the children say.

She talks a great deal about what she will do when she goes to Boston. She asked the other day, “Who made all things and Boston?” She says Mildred will not go there because “Baby does cry all days.”

October 25, 1887.

Helen wrote another letter16 to the little girls yesterday, and her father sent it to Mr. Anagnos. Ask him to let you see it. She has begun to use the pronouns of her own accord. This morning I happened to say, “Helen will go upstairs.” She laughed and said, “Teacher is wrong. You will go upstairs.” This is another great forward step. Thus it always is. Yesterday’s perplexities are strangely simple today, and today’s difficulties become tomorrow’s pastime.

The rapid development of Helen’s mind is beautiful to watch. I doubt if any teacher ever had a work of such absorbing interest. There must have been one lucky star in the heavens at my birth, and I am just beginning to feel its beneficent influence.

I had two letters from Mr. Anagnos last week. He is more grateful for my report than the English idiom will express. Now he wants a picture “of darling Helen and her illustrious teacher, to grace the pages of the forthcoming annual report.”

October, 1887.

You have probably read, ere this, Helen’s second letter to the little girls. I am aware that the progress which she has made between the writing of the two letters must seem incredible. Only those who are with her daily can realize the rapid advancement which she is making in the acquisition of language. You will see from her letter that she uses many pronouns correctly. She rarely misuses or omits one in conversation. Her passion