Already people are taking a deep interest in Helen. No one can
see her without being impressed. She is no ordinary child, and
people's interest in her education will be no ordinary interest.
Therefore let us be exceedingly careful what we say and write
about her. I shall write freely to you and tell you everything,
on one condition: It is this: you must promise never to show my
letters to any one. My beautiful Helen shall not be transformed
into a prodigy if I can help it.


June 5, 1887.

The heat makes Helen languid and quiet. Indeed, the Tophetic
weather has reduced us all to a semi-liquid state. Yesterday
Helen took off her clothes and sat in her skin all the afternoon.
When the sun got round to the window where she was sitting with
her book, she got up impatiently and shut the window. But when
the sun came in just the same, she came over to me with a grieved
look and spelled emphatically: "Sun is bad boy. Sun must go to
bed."

She is the dearest, cutest little thing now, and so loving! One
day, when I wanted her to bring me some water, she said: "Legs
very tired. Legs cry much."

She is much interested in some little chickens that are pecking
their way into the world this morning. I let her hold a shell in
her hand, and feel the chicken "chip, chip." Her astonishment,
when she felt the tiny creature inside, cannot be put in a
letter. The hen was very gentle, and made no objection to our