"I never fight," she replied, "except against difficulties."

Miss Keller's humour is that deeper kind of humour which is
courage.

Thirteen years ago she made up her mind to learn to speak, and
she gave her teacher no rest until she was allowed to take
lessons, although wise people, even Miss Sullivan, the wisest of
them all, regarded it as an experiment unlikely to succeed and
almost sure to make her unhappy. It was this same perseverance
that made her go to college. After she had passed her
examinations and received her certificate of admission, she was
advised by the Dean of Radcliffe and others not to go on. She
accordingly delayed a year. But she was not satisfied until she
had carried out her purpose and entered college.

Her life has been a series of attempts to do whatever other
people do, and to do it as well. Her success has been complete,
for in trying to be like other people she has come most fully to
be herself. Her unwillingness to be beaten has developed her
courage. Where another can go, she can go. Her respect for
physical bravery is like Stevenson's--the boy's contempt for the
fellow who cries, with a touch of young bravado in it. She takes
tramps in the woods, plunging through the underbrush, where she
is scratched and bruised; yet you could not get her to admit that
she is hurt, and you certainly could not persuade her to stay at
home next time.

So when people try experiments with her, she displays a