Helen. She is large, strong, and ruddy, and as unrestrained in
her movements as a young colt. She has none of those nervous
habits that are so noticeable and so distressing in blind
children. Her body is well formed and vigorous, and Mrs. Keller
says she has not been ill a day since the illness that deprived
her of her sight and hearing. She has a fine head, and it is set
on her shoulders just right. Her face is hard to describe. It is
intelligent, but lacks mobility, or soul, or something. Her mouth
is large and finely shaped. You see at a glance that she is
blind. One eye is larger than the other, and protrudes
noticeably. She rarely smiles; indeed, I have seen her smile only
once or twice since I came. She is unresponsive and even
impatient of caresses from any one except her mother. She is very
quick-tempered and wilful, and nobody, except her brother James,
has attempted to control her. The greatest problem I shall have
to solve is how to discipline and control her without breaking
her spirit. I shall go rather slowly at first and try to win her
love. I shall not attempt to conquer her by force alone; but I
shall insist on reasonable obedience from the start. One thing
that impresses everybody is Helen's tireless activity. She is
never still a moment. She is here, there, and everywhere. Her
hands are in everything; but nothing holds her attention for
long. Dear child, her restless spirit gropes in the dark. Her
untaught, unsatisfied hands destroy whatever they touch because
they do not know what else to do with things.

She helped me unpack my trunk when it came, and was delighted
when she found the doll the little girls sent her. I thought it a
good opportunity to teach her her first word. I spelled "d-o-l-l"
slowly in her hand and pointed to the doll and nodded my head,