Children are very susceptible, though unconsciously to themselves, to physical discomfort. You may say you do not think so, for you know they would sit through a whole morning and afternoon at school without taking off their rubbers, if the teacher did not remind them to do it, and so, you argue, this shows that they do not mind the unpleasant cramped feeling in the feet which makes a grown person frantic. But while the child himself cannot tell what is wrong with him, the wise teacher knows that his restlessness and irritability are directly traceable to a discomfort he is not able to analyze, and so the cause is not removed without her oversight. While the children's librarian will not have the close relations with the boys and girls that their school-teachers have, she may well learn of the latter so to study what will make for the child's comfort, that, in the perfect adaptation of her room to its work, half the problems of discipline are solved in advance. Let us suppose that the librarian is to have the satisfaction of planning a new children's room. In order to learn what conveniences to adopt and what mistakes to avoid, she visits other libraries and notes their good and weak points. She will soon decide that the size of a room is an important factor in the question of discipline. Let a child who lives in a cramped little flat where one can hardly set foot down without stepping on a baby come into a wide, lofty, spacious room set apart for children's reading, and, other conditions in the library being as they should the mere effect of the unwonted spaciousness will impress him and have a tendency to check the behavior that goes with tenement- house conditions. We of the profession are so impressed with the atmosphere that should pervade a library, that a very small and unpretentious collection of books brings our voices involuntarily to the proper library pitch. But this is not true to the small arab, who, coming from the cluttered little kitchen at home to a small, crowded children's room where the aisles are so narrow that the quickest way of egress is to crawl under the tables, sees only the familiar sights--disorder, confusion, discomfort --in a different place, and carries into the undignified little library room the uncouth manners that are the rule at home. In planning a new children's room then, give it as much space as you can induce the librarian, trustees, and architects to allow. Unless you are building in the North Woods, or the Klondike or the Great American Desert you will never have any difficulty in getting small patrons enough to fill up your space and keep the chairs and tables from looking lonesome.