Page 263 - The Story of My Lif

ate in a great hurry, thinking, I suppose, that I might take it from her. Then I

showed her the doll and spelled the word again, holding the doll toward her as I
held the cake. She made the letters “d-o-l”’ and I made the other “l” and gave her
the doll. She ran downstairs with it and could not be induced to return to my
room all day.

Yesterday I gave her a sewing-card to do. I made the first row of vertical lines

and let her feel it and notice that there were several rows of little holes. She
began to work delightedly and finished the card in a few minutes, and did it very
neatly indeed. I thought I would try another word; so I spelled “c-a-r-d.” She
made the “c-a,” then stopped and thought, and making the sign for eating and
pointing downward she pushed me toward the door, meaning that I must go
downstairs for some cake.

The two letters “c-a,” you see, had reminded her of Fridays “lesson”—not that
she had any idea that cake was the name of the thing, but it was simply a matter
of association, I suppose. I finished the word “c-a-k-e” and obeyed her
command. She was delighted. Then I spelled “d-o-l-l” and began to hunt for it.
She follows with her hands every motion you make, and she knew that I was
looking for the doll. She pointed down, meaning that the doll was downstairs. I
made the signs that she had used when she wished me to go for the cake, and
pushed her toward the door. She started forward, then hesitated a moment,
evidently debating within herself whether she would go or not. She decided to
send me instead. I shook my head and spelled “d-o-l-l” more emphatically, and
opened the door for her; but she obstinately refused to obey. She had not finished
the cake she was eating, and I took it away, indicating that if she brought the doll
I would give her back the cake. She stood perfectly still for one long moment,

her face crimson; then her desire for the cake triumphed, and she ran downstairs
and brought the doll, and of course I gave her the cake, but could not persuade
her to enter the room again.

She was very troublesome when I began to write this morning. She kept coming
up behind me and putting her hand on the paper and into the ink-bottle. These

blots are her handiwork. Finally I remembered the kindergarten beads, and set
her to work stringing them. First I put on two wooden beads and one glass bead,