echoing with the
gentle beat of my pony's hoof.

Another time a beautiful shell was given me, and with a child's
surprise and delight I learned how a tiny mollusk had built the
lustrous coil for his dwelling place, and how on still nights, when
there is no breeze stirring the waves, the Nautilus sails on the blue
waters of the Indian Ocean in his "ship of pearl."

It was in the spring of 1890 that I learned to speak. The impulse to
utter audible sounds had always been strong within me. I used to make
noises, keeping one hand on my throat while the other hand felt the
movements of my lips. I was pleased with anything that made a noise
and liked to feel the cat purr and the dog bark. I also liked to keep
my hand on a singer's throat, or on a piano when it was being played.
Before I lost my sight and hearing, I was fast learning to talk, but
after my illness it was found that I had ceased to speak because I
could not hear. I used to sit in my mother's lap all day long and keep
my hands on her face because it amused me to feel the motions of her
lips; and I moved my lips, too, although I had forgotten what talking
was. My friends say that I laughed and cried naturally, and for a
while I made many sounds and word-elements, not because they were a
means of communication, but because the need of exercising my vocal
organs was imperative. There was, however, one word the meaning of
which I still remembered, water. I pronounced it "wa-wa." Even this
became less and less intelligible until the time when Miss Sullivan
began to teach me. I stopped using it only after I had learned to
spell the word on my fingers.

I had known for a long time that the people about me used a method of
communication different from mine; and even before I knew that a deaf
child could be taught to speak, I was conscious of dissatisfaction with
the means of communication I already possessed. One who is entirely
dependent upon the manual alphabet has always a sense of restraint, of
narrowness. This feeling began to agitate me with a vexing,
forward-reaching sense of a lack that should be filled. My thoughts
would often rise and beat up like birds against the wind; and I
persisted in using my lips and voice. Friends tried to discourage this
tendency, fearing lest it would lead to disappointment. But I
persisted, and an accident soon occurred which resulted in the breaking
down of this great barrier--I heard the story of Ragnhild Kaata.