The Story of My Life | Page 7

did not know what it was all about, but I enjoyed the pleasant odours

that filled the house and the tidbits that were given to Martha
Washington and me to keep us quiet. We were sadly in the way, but
that did not interfere with our pleasure in the least. They allowed us to
grind the spices, pick over the raisins and lick the stirring spoons. I
hung my stocking because the others did; I cannot remember, however,
that the ceremony interested me especially, nor did my curiosity cause
me to wake before daylight to look for my gifts.
Martha Washington had as great a love of mischief as I. Two little
children were seated on the veranda steps one hot July afternoon. One
was black as ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with
shoestrings sticking out all over her head like corkscrews. The other
was white, with long golden curls. One child was six years old, the
other two or three years older. The younger child was blind--that was
I--and the other was Martha Washington. We were busy cutting out
paper dolls; but we soon wearied of this amusement, and after cutting
up our shoestrings and clipping all the leaves off the honeysuckle that
were within reach, I turned my attention to Martha's corkscrews. She
objected at first, but finally submitted. Thinking that turn and turn
about is fair play, she seized the scissors and cut off one of my curls,
and would have cut them all off but for my mother's timely
interference.
Belle, our dog, my other companion, was old and lazy and liked to
sleep by the open fire rather than to romp with me. I tried hard to teach
her my sign language, but she was dull and inattentive. She sometimes
started and quivered with excitement, then she became perfectly rigid,
as dogs do when they point a bird. I did not then know why Belle acted
in this way; but I knew she was not doing as I wished. This vexed me
and the lesson always ended in a one-sided boxing match. Belle would
get up, stretch herself lazily, give one or two contemptuous sniffs, go to
the opposite side of the hearth and lie down again, and I, wearied and
disappointed, went off in search of Martha.
Many incidents of those early years are fixed in my memory, isolated,
but clear and distinct, making the sense of that silent, aimless, dayless
life all the more intense.

One day I happened to spill water on my apron, and I spread it out to
dry before the fire which was flickering on the sitting-room hearth. The
apron did not dry quickly enough to suit me, so I drew nearer and threw
it right over the hot ashes. The fire leaped into life; the flames encircled
me so that in a moment my clothes were blazing. I made a terrified
noise that brought Viny, my old nurse, to the rescue. Throwing a
blanket over me, she almost suffocated me, but she put out the fire.
Except for my hands and hair I was not badly burned.
About this time I found out the use of a key. One morning I locked my
mother up in the pantry, where she was obliged to remain three hours,
as the servants were in a detached part of the house. She kept pounding
on the door, while I sat outside on the porch steps and laughed with
glee as I felt the jar of the pounding. This most naughty prank of mine
convinced my parents that I must be taught as soon as possible. After
my teacher, Miss Sullivan, came to me, I sought an early opportunity to
lock her in her room. I went upstairs with something which my mother
made me understand I was to give to Miss Sullivan; but no sooner had I
given it to her than I slammed the door to, locked it, and hid the key
under the wardrobe in the hall. I could not be induced to tell where the
key was. My father was obliged to get a ladder and take Miss Sullivan
out through the window--much to my delight. Months after I produced
the key.
When I was about five years old we moved from the little vine-covered
house to a large new one. The family consisted of my father and mother,
two older half-brothers, and, afterward, a little sister, Mildred. My
earliest distinct recollection of my father is making my way through
great drifts of newspapers to his side and finding him alone, holding a
sheet of paper before his face. I was greatly puzzled to know what he
was doing. I imitated this action, even wearing his spectacles, thinking
they might help solve the mystery. But I did not