ing uniform editions of standard things written by
women.

"I don't suppose there ARE many books written for
boys," said Aunt Janet, reflectively.

"No, ma'am," said Johnny. He finished winding
the watch, and gave, as was the custom, the key to
Aunt Janet, lest he lose it.

"I will see if I cannot find some books of travels
for you, John," said Janet. "I think travels would
be good reading for a boy. Good night, John."

"Good night. Aunt Janet," replied Johnny. His
aunt never kissed him good night, which was one
reason why he liked her.

On his way to bed he had to pass his mother's room,
whose door stood open. She was busy writing at her
desk. She glanced at Johnny.

"Are you going to bed?" said she.

"Yes, ma'am."

Johnny entered the room and let his mother kiss his
forehead, parting his curly hair to do so. He loved
his mother, but did not care at all to have her kiss
him. He did not object, because he thought she