Page 304 - The Story of My Lif

watch for Christmas.

Helen is as eager to have stories told her as any hearing child I ever knew. She
has made me repeat the story of little Red Riding Hood so often that I believe I
could say it backward. She likes stories that make her cry—I think we all do, it’s
so nice to feel sad when you’ve nothing particular to be sad about. I am teaching
her little rhymes and verses, too. They fix beautiful thoughts in her memory. I

think, too, that they quicken all the child’s faculties, because they stimulate the
imagination. Of course I don’t try to explain everything. If I did, there would be
no opportunity for the play of fancy. TOO MUCH EXPLANATION

DIRECTS THE CHILD’S ATTENTION TO WORDS AND SENTENCES, SO
THAT HE

FAILS TO GET THE THOUGHT AS A WHOLE. I do not think anyone can

read, or talk for that matter, until he forgets words and sentences in the technical
sense.

January 1, 1888.

It is a great thing to feel that you are of some use in the world, that you are
necessary to somebody. Helen’s dependence on me for almost everything makes
me strong and glad.

Christmas week was a very busy one here, too. Helen is invited to all the
children’s entertainments, and I take her to as many as I can. I want her to know
children and to be with them as much as possible. Several little girls have
learned to spell on their fingers and are very proud of the accomplishment. One
little chap, about seven, was persuaded to learn the letters, and he spelled his
name for Helen. She was delighted, and showed her joy, by hugging and kissing
him, much to his embarrassment.