When I told her that Santa Claus would not come until she was
asleep, she shut her eyes and said, "He will think girl is
asleep." She was awake the first thing in the morning, and ran to
the fireplace for her stocking; and when she found that Santa
Claus had filled both stockings, she danced about for a minute,
then grew very quiet, and came to ask me if I thought Santa Claus
had made a mistake, and thought there were two little girls, and
would come back for the gifts when he discovered his mistake. The
ring you sent her was in the toe of the stocking, and when I told
her you gave it to Santa Claus for her, she said, "I do love Mrs.
Hopkins." She had a trunk and clothes for Nancy, and her comment
was, "Now Nancy will go to party." When she saw the braille slate
and paper, she said, "I will write many letters, and I will thank
Santa Claus very much." It was evident that every one, especially
Captain and Mrs. Keller, was deeply moved at the thought of the
difference between this bright Christmas and the last, when their
little girl had no conscious part in the Christmas festivities.
As we came downstairs, Mrs. Keller said to me with tears in her
eyes, "Miss Annie, I thank God every day of my life for sending
you to us; but I never realized until this morning what a
blessing you have been to us." Captain Keller took my hand, but
could not speak. But his silence was more eloquent than words. My
heart, too, was full of gratitude and solemn joy.

The other day Helen came across the word grandfather in a little
story and asked her mother, "Where is grandfather?" meaning her
grandfather. Mrs. Keller replied, "He is dead." "Did father shoot
him?" Helen asked, and added, "I will eat grandfather for
dinner." So far, her only knowledge of death is in connection
with things to eat. She knows that her father shoots partridges