Earlier in theday we had had a tussle over the words "m-u-g" and "w-a-t-e-r." Miss Sullivan had tried toimpress it upon me that "m-u-g" is mug and that "w-a-t-e-r" is water, but I persisted inconfounding the two. In despair she had dropped the subject for the time, only to renew it atthe first opportunity. I became impatient at her repeated attempts and, seizing the new doll, Idashed it upon the floor. I was keenly delighted when I felt the fragments of the broken doll atmy feet. Neither sorrow nor regret followed my passionate outburst. I had not loved the doll.In the still, dark world in which I lived there was no strong sentiment or tenderness. I felt my teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satisfaction thatthe cause of my discomfort was removed. She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going outinto the warm sunshine. This thought, if a wordless sensation may be called a thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure.