Page 287 - The Story of My Lif

She has a perfect mania for counting. She has counted everything in the house,

and is now busy counting the words in her primer. I hope it will not occur to her
to count the hairs of her head. If she could see and hear, I suppose she would get
rid of her superfluous energy in ways which would not, 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