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Watching Plants and Tadpoles Grow

AGA1N, it was the growth of a plant that furnished the text for a lesson. We bought a lily and set it in a sunny window. Very soon the green buds showed signs of opening. The slender, finger-like leaves on the outside opened slowly, reluctant, I thought, to reveal the loveliness they hid; once having made a start, however, the opening process went on rapidly, but in order and systematically. There was always one bud larger and more beautiful than the rest, which pushed her outer covering back with more pomp, as if the beauty in soft, silky robes knew that she was the lily-queen by right divine, while her more timid sisters doffed their green hoods shyly, until the whole plant was one nodding bough of loveliness and fragrance.

Again, it was eleven tadpoles in a glass globe set in a window full of plants. I remember the eagerness and delight with which I made discoveries about them. It was great fun to plunge my hand into the bowl arid feel the tadpoles frisk about, and to let them slip and slide between my fingers. One day a more ambitious fellow leaped beyond the edge of the bowl and fell on the floor, where I found him to all appearance more dead than alive. But no sooner had he returned to his element than he darted to the bottom, swimming round and round in joyous activity. He had seen the great world, and was content to stay in his pretty glass house under the big fuchsia tree until he attained the dignity of froghood. Then he went to live in the leafy pool at the end of the garden, where he made the summer nights musical with his quaint love-song.

Sometimes I rose at dawn and stole into the garden while the heavy dew lay on the grass and flowers. Few know what joy it is to feel the roses pressing softly into the hand, or the beautiful motion of the lilies as they sway in the breeze. Sometimes I caught an insect in the flower I was plucking, and felt the faint action of wings rubbed together in terror, as the little creature became aware of a pressure from without.

Another favorite haunt of mine was the orchard, where the fruit ripened early in July. The large, downy peaches would reach themselves into my hand, and as the joyous breezes flew about the trees the apples tumbled at my feet. Oh, the delight with which I gathered up the fruit in my pinafore, pressed my face against the rosy cheeks of the apples, still warm from the sun, and skipped back to the house!

Christmas Festivities at Tuscumbia

THE first Christmas after Miss Sullivan came to Tuscumbia was a great event. Every one in the family prepared surprises for me; but what pleased me most, Miss Sullivan and I prepared surprises for everybody else. The mystery that surrounded the gifts was my greatest delight and amusement. My friends did all they could to excite my curiosity by hints and half-spelled sentences. Miss Sullivan and I kept up a game of guessing which taught me more about the use of language than any set lessons could have done. Every evening, seated around a glowing wood fire, we played our guessing game, which grew more and more exciting as Christmas approached.

At last, on Christmas Eve, the parlor door was thrown open and we all went in. In the centre of the room stood a beautiful tree ablaze and shimmering in the soft light, its branches loaded with strange, wonderful fruit. It was a moment of supreme happiness. I danced and capered around the tree in an ecstasy. I was given some of my presents and easily persuaded to leave the rest until morning. I went to sleep with a new doll and a white bear in my arms. Next morning it was I who roused the household with my "Merry Christmas." I dressed hurriedly, thinking all the time of the enchanted tree downstairs. When Miss Sullivan gave me a beautiful canary my cup of delight overflowed.

Little Tim was so tame that he would hop on my finger and eat candied cherries out of my hand. Miss Sullivan taught me to take all the care of my new pet. Every morning after breakfast I prepared his bath, made his cage clean and sweet, filled his cups with fresh seed, and water from the well-house, and hung a spray of chickweed in his swing. One morning I left the cage on the window-seat while I went to fetch water for his bath. When I returned I felt a big cat brush past me as I opened the door. At first I did not realize what had happened; but when I put my hand in the cage, and Tim's pretty wings did not meet my touch, or his small pointed claws take hold of my finger, I knew that I should never see my sweet little singer again.

Thus I learned from life itself. At the beginning I was only a little mass of possibilities. It was my teacher who unfolded and developed them. When she came everything about me breathed of love and joy and was full of meaning. She has never let pass an opportunity to point out the beauty that is in everything, nor has she ceased trying in thought and action and example to make my life sweet and useful.

A Loving Tribute to a Devoted Teacher