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For some time after Helen and I became constant companions we had no adequate means of communication, and the child was often thrown upon her own resources for amusement. She would sit beside me after a lesson, or wander restlessly about the house, making strange though rarely unpleasant sounds. When sitting, she would make noises, keeping one hand on her throat, while the fingers of the other hand noted the movements of her lips. Occasionally she would break out into a merry laugh at some passing fancy, and then she would reach out and touch the mouth of any one who happened to be near her, to see if she or he were laughing also. If she detected no smile, she would gesticulate excitedly, trying to convey her thought; but, if she failed to make her companion laugh, she would sit very still for a few moments, with an expression so troubled and disappointed that I shall never forget it. She was pleased with anything which made a noise. She liked to feel the cat purr; and if by chance she felt of a dog in the act of barking, she would show great pleasure. She always liked to stand by the piano when some one was playing and singing. She would keep one hand on the singer's mouth, while the other rested on the piano, and she derived so much enjoyment from a performance of this sort, that she would stand in the position described as long as any one would sing to her; and afterwards she would make a continuous sound which she called singing. The only words she had learned to pronounce with any degree of distinctness previous to March, 1890, were papa, mamma, baby, sister. These words she had caught without instruction from the lips of friends. It will be seen that they contain three vowel and six consonant elements, and they formed the foundation for her first real lesson in speaking. During the latter part of the winter of 1889-90 she became gradually conscious of the fact that her means of intercourse with others were different from those employed by her little friends and playmates who were only blind; and one day her thoughts on this subject found expression in the following questions: "How do the girls know what to say with their mouths? Why do you not teach me to talk like them? Do deaf children ever learn to speak?" I explained that there was a school in Boston where deaf were taught to speak, but that they could see their teacher's month and learn partly in that way. There she interrupted me to say that she was sure she could feel my mouth very well.

A short time after this conversation a lady came to see Helen, and told her about little Ragnhild Kaata, a deaf and blind child she had seen in Norway, who had been taught to speak, and to understand by touching her teacher's lips what he said to her. Helen's joy over this good news can be better imagined than described. "I am so delighted," she said, "for now I know that I shall learn to speak too." I promised, if she would be patient, that I would take her to see a kind lady who knew all about teaching the deaf, and who would know whether it would be possible or not for her to learn to speak. "Oh, yes; I can learn," was her eager reply. "I know I can, because Ragnhild has learned to speak."

She did not mention the subject again that day; but it was evident that she thought of little else, and that night she was not able to sleep. She began immediately to make sounds which she called speaking; and I saw the necessity of correct instruction, since her heart was set upon learning to talk. Accordingly I went with her early in March to ask the advice and assistance of Miss Sarah Fuller of the Horace Mann school. Miss Fuller was delighted with the child's enthusiasm and earnestness, and immediately began to teach her to speak. This she did by letting Helen feel of her tongue, lips and throat while she uttered slowly and distinctly a simple combination of word elements, like it, miss, kiss, me, see, etc.; and so great was the child's natural capacity for learning to articulate that at the end of the first lesson she was able to pronounce distinctly the following sounds: a, ä, â, e, i, o, c soft like s and hard like k; g hard; b, l, n, m, t, p, s, u, k, f and d. Hard consonants were and indeed still are very difficult for her to pronounce when occurring in connection with one another in the same word; she will often suppress the one and change the other, and sometimes she will replace both by an analogous sound with soft expiration. The confusion between l and r was very noticeable in her speech at first. She would repeatedly exchange the one for the other. The great difficulty in the pronunciation of the r made it one of the last elements to be mastered. The ch, sh and soft g also gave her much trouble, and she does not yet enunciate them clearly.

She was not content to be drilled in single sounds or meaningless combinations of letters. She was impatient to pronounce words and form sentences. The length of the word or the difficulty of the arrangement of the letters never seemed to discourage her. When she had been talking for less than a week, she met her friend, Mr. Rodocanachi, and immediately began to struggle with the pronunciation of his name; nor would she give it up until she was able to articulate the word distinctly. Her interest never diminished for a moment; and, in her eagerness to overcome the difficulties which beset her on all sides, she taxed her powers to the utmost, learning in eleven lessons all of the separate elements of speech.