Page 308 - The Story of My Lif

The report came last night. I appreciate the kind things Mr.

Anagnos has said about Helen and me; but his extravagant way of saying them
rubs me the wrong way. The simple facts would be so much more convincing!
Why, for instance, does he take the trouble to ascribe motives to me that I never
dreamed of? You know, and he knows, and I know, that my motive in coming
here was not in any sense philanthropic. How ridiculous it is to say I had drunk

so copiously of the noble spirit of Dr. Howe that I was fired with the desire to
rescue from darkness and obscurity the little Alabamian! I came here simply
because circumstances made it necessary for me to earn my living, and I seized
upon the first opportunity that offered itself, although I did not suspect nor did
he, that I had any special fitness for the work.

January 26, 1888.

I suppose you got Helen’s letter. The little rascal has taken it into her head not to
write with a pencil. I wanted her to write to her Uncle Frank this morning, but
she objected. She said: “Pencil is very tired in head. I will write Uncle Frank
braille letter.” I said, “But Uncle Frank cannot read braille.” “I will teach him,”

she said. I explained that Uncle Frank was old, and couldn’t learn braille easily.
In a flash she answered, “I think Uncle Frank is much (too) old to read very
small letters.”

Finally I persuaded her to write a few lines; but she broke her pencil six times
before she finished it. I said to her, “You are a naughty girl.” “No,” she replied,
“pencil is very weak.” I think her objection to pencil-writing is readily accounted
for by the fact that she has been asked to write so many specimens for friends
and strangers. You know how the children at the Institution detest it. It is
irksome because the process is so slow, and they cannot read what they have
written or correct their mistakes.

Helen is more and more interested in colour. When I told her that Mildred’s eyes