We have a few, rare outside readers for juvenile books. Miss Broderick is our whooping crane. Just when we begin to suspect that she has become extinct for our organization, she flies in. Kirkus has the unshakeable conviction that reviewing your own reviewers among such a small flock, is a cowbird stunt, but whatever course we take plays hob with the pecking order. We'll never forget the time our Managing Editor refused coverage to her mother's book. She went from ""My Chick"" to ""Ugly Duckling"" faster than you can say ""Reviewer Objectivity."" Then, there was the time one of our adult book reviewers quietly laid a picture book under her maiden name. We brooded our review with all the usual care and the necessary detachment. Her publisher gave her a peep at it. She flaped in squawking in a thoroughly uncontrolled vocabulary and went the way of the passenger pigeon. We're only trying to run a clean, quiet, respectable coop here, attractive to passing, fastidious rare birds. C--luck, Miss B.