into a gentle child. She is sitting by me as I write, her face
serene and happy, crocheting a long red chain of Scotch wool. She
learned the stitch this week, and is very proud of the
achievement. When she succeeded in making a chain that would
reach across the room, she patted herself on the arm and put the
first work of her hands lovingly against her cheek. She lets me
kiss her now, and when she is in a particularly gentle mood, she
will sit in my lap for a minute or two; but she does not return
my caresses. The great step--the step that counts--has been
taken. The little savage has learned her first lesson in
obedience, and finds the yoke easy. It now remains my pleasant
task to direct and mould the beautiful intelligence that is
beginning to stir in the child-soul. Already people remark the
change in Helen. Her father looks in at us morning and evening as
he goes to and from his office, and sees her contentedly
stringing her beads or making horizontal lines on her
sewing-card, and exclaims, "How quiet she is!" When I came, her
movements were so insistent that one always felt there was
something unnatural and almost weird about her. I have noticed
also that she eats much less, a fact which troubles her father so
much that he is anxious to get her home. He says she is homesick.
I don't agree with him; but I suppose we shall have to leave our
little bower very soon.

Helen has learned several nouns this week. "M-u-g" and "m-i-l-k,"
have given her more trouble than other words. When she spells
"milk," she points to the mug, and when she spells "mug," she
makes the sign for pouring or drinking, which shows that she has
confused the words. She has no idea yet that everything has a
name.