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A WORD WITH THE WOMEN
(By Elia W Peattie)

There were three of them. They lived in the same house, having had the ill fortune to select the same parents. They were talking about the efficacy of prayer--only they didn't call it "efficacy,' because one of them was 5, one 8 and one 11 years old.

"Well," said Eleven, "I just know prayers are answered. My prayers are answered, anyway. When I ask for anything real hard God always gives it to me."

'Maybe he gives it to you,' said Eight, who was a girl 'but I have been praying for some things for a year and they haven't come yet. I don't think it does any good to pray."

'Mabby," remarked Five contemplatively, as he dragged three balls of dirty twine out of a minute pocket. 'Mabby you ain't onto your job."

Not long ago a little girl with a Distinguished Relative learned that he--the D R, had been elected governor of his state. She was immediately swe'led with pride and anticipation. Possibly she has derived more satisfaction from the situation than the Distinguished Relative himself. Reflecting on the family glory, a happy thought struck her.

'Oh mamma," she said, "I 'spose when Uncle Henry becomes governor that Aune Jane will be the governess, won't she?"

Apropos of all this, there was once a club of women started in a pleasant suburb of Chicago. Most of the members were young married women. They met for purposes of study, and in addition to the usual rules, they had one of a negative sort. It was that they were not to speak of their ailments their servants or their children. As they were all in good health, approximately at least, they had no trouble in refraining from mention of their health. They were too well bred to discuss their servants. But they almost exploded in their efforts to refrain from telling stories about their respective babies. Indeed the rule was so often infringed upon that at length a small recess was permitted every afternoon in order that the cleverest doings in the nursery might be recorded. It was generally agreed that the club would have gone to pieces if this latitude had not been permitted.

The word nursery, used in the previous paragraph, reminds one that it is more or less of an affectation to speak of nurseries as if they were a common institution. They certainly are not, in this town at least. Out of 100 homes where little children are to be found, there is perhaps one home with a nursery among its conveniences. The average little child grows up hanging to her mother's beloved skirts. If she is in the kitchen making bread, he is there playing with a piece of the dough. If she is at the sewing machine, he is helping her. If she is reading, he is perched on the arm of her chair, reading, too. Perhaps, after all, these are the children who really have the most delightful time.

The following communication comes from an esteemed woman, and relates to the direction which the economies in the public schools are likely to take.

Thirty years have wrought wondrous changes in our public schools, and there have been many seasons of "hard times" but never before has the writer heard the demand to begin economies by robbing the little children of any valued educational facilities.

If the city council wished to decide on some new pavement, electric light or trolley system they would send experts in each line to decide upon its merits. Have not the mothers of Omaha a right to demand that educational experts decide upon the merits of the kindergartens?

The visitor in any of our kindergartens will find fifty or more bright-faced children busily occupied with what seems to be mere play with certain forms and colors, but which is in reality the use of a new set of educational tools, not to be condemned by those who know nothing whatever of their object. The cheerful home-like atmosphere, the music, the happiness of the little children alone ough to appeal to the crustiest of bachelors of most mercenary of heavy taxpayers in the city.

In conclusion we would recommend to the youthful members of the council of city fathers(?) the perusal of "Children's Rights," by Kate Wiggin, and to the Heavy Taxpayer," a course in psychology although since psychology is the science of one's own soul he may find it difficult to discover a subject for experiment.