Page 283 - The Story of My Lif

The other day a friend brought her a new doll from Memphis, and I thought I

would see if I could make Helen understand that she must not break it. I made
her go through the motion of knocking the doll’s head on the table and spelled to
her: “No, no, Helen is naughty. Teacher is sad,” and let her feel the grieved
expression on my face. Then I made her caress the doll and kiss the hurt spot and
hold it gently in her arms, and I spelled to her, “Good Helen, teacher is happy,”
and let her feel the smile on my face. She went through these motions several
times, mimicking every movement, then she stood very still for a moment with a
troubled look on her face, which suddenly cleared, and she spelled, “Good
Helen,” and wreathed her face in a very large, artificial smile. Then she carried
the doll upstairs and put it on the top shelf of the wardrobe, and she has not
touched it since.

Please give my kind regards to Mr. Anagnos and let him see my letter, if you
think best. I hear there is a deaf and blind child being educated at the Baltimore
Institution.

June 2, 1887.

The weather is scorching. We need rain badly. We are all troubled about Helen.
She is very nervous and excitable. She is restless at night and has no appetite. It
is hard to know what to do with her. The doctor says her mind is too active; but
how are we to keep her from thinking? She begins to spell the minute she wakes
up in the morning, and continues all day long. If I refuse to talk to her, she spells
into her own hand, and apparently carries on the liveliest conversation with
herself.

I gave her my braille slate to play with, thinking that the mechanical pricking of
holes in the paper would amuse her and rest her mind. But what was my
astonishment when I found that the little witch was writing letters! I had no idea
she knew what a letter was. She has often gone with me to the post-office to mail
letters, and I suppose I have repeated to her things I wrote to you. She knew, too,