with the sick child,--looking after
the little coughs, the uncovered shoulders, getting the drinks of
water and performing a dozen other details--that she was too weary to
accompany her husband to the dance, to the theater, to the social
gathering or to ladies' night at the club; and so, in the course of a
dozen years, the mother had grown old, and quite naturally she had
grown "home centered." Her world's horizon was the walls of her home.
She was happy and quite contented in her children's smiles, in the
cheery "how do you do" of her husband, in the fact that that gravy was
good or that steak was fried to the king's taste.

She was happy and contented until one day when the awakening blow
came. In the attic she and her thirteen-year-old son, who was just
entering high school, were looking through an old chest when she drew
forth some examination reports and some old school cards--holding them
up side by side. One set of the cards bore the father's name and the
other set the mother's maiden name. In great surprise the boy
exclaimed, "Why, mother, I never knew you studied algebra and Latin;
why, mother, I never knew you were educated." Her eyes were
immediately opened, the scales fell off, she was awakened to the fact
that her own son was coming to regard his mother as somewhat inferior,
in intellectual attainments, to the father--that she was considered in
that home as a mere domestic. True, the steak had been broiled well,
the pudding was exquisite, the children's clothes were always in
order, the husband's trousers were always beautifully pressed, his
ties were cleaned as well as a cleaner could clean them; but where did
she stand in her boy's mind and where was she in her husband's mind?

"Do you notice how trim and nice Mrs. Smith always looks? Her clothes
are always in the latest style, and she combs her hair so becomingly."
Such remarks as this from the well-meaning husband cut keenly, and it
is well that they do, for often it is only such remarks that wake up
our "home mother."

Dear reader, I want you to ponder this story. I wish to say to the
mother who has started out upon a career in life, who has prepared
herself for teaching school, for a business career, for story writing,
for millinery, for lecturing, or has perhaps graduated in a domestic
science course, that she makes the mistake of her life in settling
down, just because she has taken another's name, to be perfectly
satisfied with becoming the hou