Story of My Life

catch on the wing, as it were, delightedly, while the little deaf child must trap them by a slow and often painful process. But whatever the process, the result is wonderful. Gradu

as my knowledge of things grew, and I learned more and more words, my field of inquiry broadened, and I would return again and again to t

a few early violets in the garden and brought them to my teacher. She tried to kiss me: but at that time I did not like to

love?"

whose beats I was conscious of for the first time. Her words puzzled me

alf in words, half in signs, a question whic

aid my

The warm sun wa

ting in the direction from which

mth makes all things grow. But Miss Sullivan shook her head, and I was greatly puz

Miss Sullivan had pointed them out again and again with gentle patience. Finally I noticed a very obvious error in the sequence and for an instant I concentrated

he process that was going on in my head. This was

meaning for "love" in the light of this new idea. The sun had been under a cloud all day, and

y teacher, "Is

have understood, she explained: "You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have

lt that there were invisible lines stretched

ly difference was that she spelled the sentences into my hand instead of speaking them. If I did not know the words and idioms nec

conversation he hears in his home stimulates his mind and suggests topics and calls forth the spontaneous expression of his own thoughts. This natural exchange of ideas is denied to the deaf child. My teacher, realizing this, determined to supply the kinds of stimulus I lacked. This

case of those who are both deaf and blind! They cannot distinguish the tone of the voice or, without assistance, go up and down the gamut of to