Chapter 15

The summer and winter following the "Frost King" incident I spent with my family in Alabama. I recall with delight that home-going. Everything had budded and blossomed. I was happy. "The Frost King" was forgotten.

I spent the summer and winter after the "Frost King" incident with my family in Alabama. I remember that trip home with delight. Everything had budded and blossomed. I was happy. "The Frost King" was forgotten.

When the ground was strewn with the crimson and golden leaves of autumn, and the musk-scented grapes that covered the arbour at the end of the garden were turning golden brown in the sunshine, I began to write a sketch of my life—a year after I had written "The Frost King."

The ground was covered with crimson and golden autumn leaves. Musk-scented grapes covered the arbor at the end of the garden and were turning golden brown in the sunshine. It was then that I began to write a sketch of my life, a year after I had written "The Frost King."

I was still excessively scrupulous about everything I wrote. The thought that what I wrote might not be absolutely my own tormented me. No one knew of these fears except my teacher. A strange sensitiveness prevented me from referring to the "Frost King"; and often when an idea flashed out in the course of conversation I would spell softly to her, "I am not sure it is mine." At other times, in the midst of a paragraph I was writing, I said to myself, "Suppose it should be found that all this was written by some one long ago!" An impish fear clutched my hand, so that I could not write any more that day. And even now I sometimes feel the same uneasiness and disquietude. Miss Sullivan consoled and helped me in every way she could think of; but the terrible experience I had passed through left a lasting impression on my mind, the significance of which I am only just beginning to understand. It was with the hope of restoring my self-confidence that she persuaded me to write for the Youth's Companion a brief account of my life. I was then twelve years old. As I look back on my struggle to write that little story, it seems to me that I must have had a prophetic vision of the good that would come of the undertaking, or I should surely have failed.

I was still extremely careful about everything I wrote. The thought that my writing might not be entirely my own tormented me. No one knew about these fears except my teacher. A strange sensitivity kept me from mentioning the "Frost King". Often, when an idea came to me during a conversation, I would spell softly to her, "I am not sure it is mine." At other times, in the middle of a paragraph, I would say to myself, "Suppose it should be found that all this was written by some one long ago!" A mischievous fear would grip my hand, so that I could not write any more that day. Even now, I sometimes feel the same uneasiness and distress. Miss Sullivan comforted and helped me in every way she could think of. But the terrible experience I had been through left a lasting impression on my mind. I am only just beginning to understand its significance. Hoping to restore my self-confidence, she persuaded me to write a brief account of my life for the Youth's Companion. I was twelve years old then. When I look back on my struggle to write that little story, I feel I must have foreseen the good it would bring. Otherwise, I would surely have failed.

I wrote timidly, fearfully, but resolutely, urged on by my teacher, who knew that if I persevered, I should find my mental foothold again and get a grip on my faculties. Up to the time of the "Frost King" episode, I had lived the unconscious life of a little child; now my thoughts were turned inward, and I beheld things invisible. Gradually I emerged from the penumbra of that experience with a mind made clearer by trial and with a truer knowledge of life.

I wrote timidly and fearfully, but with determination. My teacher encouraged me because she knew that if I kept trying, I would regain my mental footing and control of my abilities. Until the "Frost King" episode, I had lived with a little child’s lack of self-awareness. Now I turned my thoughts inward and saw things that were invisible. Gradually, I emerged from the shadow of that experience. The ordeal had made my mind clearer and given me a truer understanding of life.

The chief events of the year 1893 were my trip to Washington during the inauguration of President Cleveland, and visits to Niagara and the World's Fair. Under such circumstances my studies were constantly interrupted and often put aside for many weeks, so that it is impossible for me to give a connected account of them.

The main events of 1893 were my trip to Washington during President Cleveland's inauguration and visits to Niagara and the World's Fair. My studies were constantly interrupted and often set aside for many weeks. As a result, I cannot give a connected account of them.

We went to Niagara in March, 1893. It is difficult to describe my emotions when I stood on the point which overhangs the American Falls and felt the air vibrate and the earth tremble.

We went to Niagara in March 1893. I stood on a point overlooking the American Falls and felt the air vibrate and the earth tremble. It is hard to describe how I felt.

It seems strange to many people that I should be impressed by the wonders and beauties of Niagara. They are always asking: "What does this beauty or that music mean to you? You cannot see the waves rolling up the beach or hear their roar. What do they mean to you?" In the most evident sense they mean everything. I cannot fathom or define their meaning any more than I can fathom or define love or religion or goodness.

Many people find it strange that I can be moved by the wonders and beauty of Niagara. They always ask: "What does this beauty or that music mean to you? You cannot see the waves rolling onto the beach or hear them roar. What do they mean to you?" In the most obvious sense, they mean everything. I cannot understand or explain their meaning any more than I can understand or explain love, religion, or goodness.

During the summer of 1893, Miss Sullivan and I visited the World's Fair with Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. I recall with unmixed delight those days when a thousand childish fancies became beautiful realities. Every day in imagination I made a trip round the world, and I saw many wonders from the uttermost parts of the earth—marvels of invention, treasuries of industry and skill and all the activities of human life actually passed under my finger tips.

During the summer of 1893, Miss Sullivan and I visited the World's Fair with Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. I remember those days with pure delight, as a thousand childhood fantasies became beautiful realities. Every day, I traveled around the world in my imagination. I encountered many wonders from the farthest parts of the earth. Marvels of invention, treasures of industry and skill, and all the activities of human life passed beneath my fingertips.

I liked to visit the Midway Plaisance. It seemed like the "Arabian Nights," it was crammed so full of novelty and interest. Here was the India of my books in the curious bazaar with its Shivas and elephant-gods; there was the land of the Pyramids concentrated in a model Cairo with its mosques and its long processions of camels; yonder were the lagoons of Venice, where we sailed every evening when the city and the fountains were illuminated. I also went on board a Viking ship which lay a short distance from the little craft. I had been on a man-of-war before, in Boston, and it interested me to see, on this Viking ship, how the seaman was once all in all—how he sailed and took storm and calm alike with undaunted heart, and gave chase to whosoever reechoed his cry, "We are of the sea!" and fought with brains and sinews, self-reliant, self-sufficient, instead of being thrust into the background by unintelligent machinery, as Jack is to-day. So it always is—"man only is interesting to man."

I liked visiting the Midway Plaisance. It seemed like the "Arabian Nights" because it was so full of new and interesting things. In the unusual bazaar, I found the India of my books, with its Shivas and elephant gods. Elsewhere, the land of the Pyramids was condensed into a model Cairo, with mosques and long processions of camels. Farther on were the lagoons of Venice. We sailed there every evening, when the city and its fountains were lit up. I also went aboard a Viking ship anchored a short distance from the little boats. I had been aboard a warship before, in Boston. On the Viking ship, I was interested to see how the sailor had once been everything. He sailed through storm and calm alike with an undaunted heart. He gave chase to anyone who echoed his cry, "We are of the sea!" He fought with brains and muscle, relying on himself and needing no one else. Today, the sailor is pushed into the background by unintelligent machinery. It is always so: "man only is interesting to man."

At a little distance from this ship there was a model of the Santa Maria, which I also examined. The captain showed me Columbus's cabin and the desk with an hour-glass on it. This small instrument impressed me most because it made me think how weary the heroic navigator must have felt as he saw the sand dropping grain by grain while desperate men were plotting against his life.

A short distance from the ship was a model of the Santa Maria, which I also examined. The captain showed me Columbus's cabin and the desk with an hourglass on it. The hourglass impressed me most. It made me think how tired the heroic navigator must have felt watching the sand fall grain by grain. All the while, desperate men were plotting to kill him.

Mr. Higinbotham, President of the World's Fair, kindly gave me permission to touch the exhibits, and with an eagerness as insatiable as that with which Pizarro seized the treasures of Peru, I took in the glories of the Fair with my fingers. It was a sort of tangible kaleidoscope, this white city of the West. Everything fascinated me, especially the French bronzes. They were so lifelike, I thought they were angel visions which the artist had caught and bound in earthly forms.

Mr. Higinbotham, President of the World's Fair, kindly gave me permission to touch the exhibits. With an eagerness as insatiable as Pizarro's when he seized the treasures of Peru, I explored the Fair's wonders with my fingers. This white city of the West was like a kaleidoscope I could touch. Everything fascinated me, especially the French bronzes. They were so lifelike that I thought they were visions of angels the artist had captured in earthly forms.

At the Cape of Good Hope exhibit, I learned much about the processes of mining diamonds. Whenever it was possible, I touched the machinery while it was in motion, so as to get a clearer idea how the stones were weighed, cut, and polished. I searched in the washings for a diamond and found it myself—the only true diamond, they said, that was ever found in the United States.

At the Cape of Good Hope exhibit, I learned a lot about how diamonds are mined. Whenever possible, I touched the machinery while it was running. This helped me better understand how the stones were weighed, cut, and polished. I searched the washed material for a diamond and found one myself. They said it was the only real diamond ever found in the United States.

Dr. Bell went everywhere with us and in his own delightful way described to me the objects of greatest interest. In the electrical building we examined the telephones, autophones, phonographs, and other inventions, and he made me understand how it is possible to send a message on wires that mock space and outrun time, and, like Prometheus, to draw fire from the sky. We also visited the anthropological department, and I was much interested in the relics of ancient Mexico, in the rude stone implements that are so often the only record of an age—the simple monuments of nature's unlettered children (so I thought as I fingered them) that seem bound to last while the memorials of kings and sages crumble in dust away—and in the Egyptian mummies, which I shrank from touching. From these relics I learned more about the progress of man than I have heard or read since.

Dr. Bell went everywhere with us and described the most interesting objects to me in his own delightful way. In the electrical building, we examined telephones, autophones, phonographs, and other inventions. He helped me understand how messages can travel on wires that defy distance and outrun time. He also showed me how, like Prometheus, we can draw fire from the sky. We visited the anthropology department, too. I was very interested in the ancient Mexican relics and the crude stone tools that are so often the only record of an age. As I felt the tools, I thought of them as simple monuments left by nature's unlettered children. They seemed destined to last while the memorials of kings and wise people crumble into dust. I was also interested in the Egyptian mummies, though I recoiled from touching them. From these relics I learned more about human progress than I have heard or read since.

All these experiences added a great many new terms to my vocabulary, and in the three weeks I spent at the Fair I took a long leap from the little child's interest in fairy tales and toys to the appreciation of the real and the earnest in the workaday world.

All these experiences added many new words to my vocabulary. In my three weeks at the Fair, I took a great leap. I moved from a young child’s interest in fairy tales and toys to an appreciation of the real and serious things in everyday life.