Again I thought. The warm sun was shining on us.
"Is this not love?" I asked, pointing in the direction from which the
heat came, "Is this not love?"
It seemed to me that there could be nothing more beautiful than the
sun, whose warmth makes all things grow. But Miss Sullivan shook her
head, and I was greatly puzzled and disappointed. I thought it strange
that my teacher could not show me love.
A day or two afterward I was stringing beads of different sizes in
symmetrical groups--two large beads, three small ones, and so on. I
had made many mistakes, and Miss Sullivan had pointed them out again
and again with gentle patience. Finally I noticed a very obvious error
in the sequence and for an instant I concentrated my attention on the
lesson and tried to think how I should have arranged the beads. Miss
Sullivan touched my forehead and spelled with decided emphasis, "Think."
In a flash I knew that the word was the name of the process that was
going on in my head. This was my first conscious perception of an
abstract idea.
For a long time I was still--I was not thinking of the beads in my lap,
but trying to find a meaning for "love" in the light of this new idea.
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