Читать книгу Marm Lisa - Wiggin Kate Douglas Smith - Страница 5

‘Now, Rhoda dear,’ said Mistress Mary one day, when Lisa had become somewhat wonted to her new surroundings, ‘you are to fold your hands respectfully in your lap and I will teach you things,—things which you in your youth and inexperience have not thought about as yet.  The other girls may listen, too, and catch the drippings of my wisdom.  I really know little about the education of defective children, but, thank heaven, I can put two and two together, as Susan Nipper said.  The general plan will be to train Lisa’s hands and speak to her senses in every possible way, since her organs of sense are within your reach, and those of thought are out of it.  The hardest lesson for such a child to learn is the subordination of its erratic will to our normal ones.  Lisa’s attention is the most hopeful thing about her and encourages me more than anything else.  It is not as if there were no mental processes existing; they are there, but in a very enfeebled state.  Of course she should have been under skilled teaching the six years, but, late as it is, we couldn’t think of giving up a child who can talk, use her right hand, dress herself, go upon errands, recognise colours, wash dishes; who is apparently neither vicious nor cunning, but who, on the contrary, has lived four years under the same roof with Mrs. S. Cora Grubb without rebellion or violence or treachery!  Why, dear girls, such a task, if it did not appeal to one on the moral, certainly would on the intellectual, side.  Marm Lisa will teach us more in a year, you may be sure, than we shall teach her.  Let us keep a record of our experiments; drop all materials that seem neither to give her sensations nor wake her discriminative power, and choose others that speak to her more clearly.  Let us watch her closely, both to penetrate the secret of her condition and to protect the other children.  What a joy, what a triumph to say to her some dear day, a few years hence, “You poor, motherless bairn, we have swept away the cobwebs of your dreams, given you back your will, put a clue to things in your hand: now go on and learn to live and be mistress of your own life under God!”’

It was at such a moment, when Mary’s voice trembled, and her eyes shone through a mist of tears like two victorious stars, that a hush fell upon the little group, and the spirit of the eternal child descended like a dove, its pure wings stirring the silence of each woman’s heart.  At such a moment, their daily work, with its round of harsh, unlovely, beautiful, discouraging, hopeful, helpful, heavenly duties, was transfigured, and so were they.  The servant was transformed by the service, and the service by the servant.  They were alone together, each heart knit to all the others by the close bond of a common vocation; and though a heretofore unknown experience, it seemed a natural one when Mistress Mary suddenly bent her head, and said softly: