me! I suppose you will!"

"Why, Kitty!" cried Mrs. Fenelby.

"Yes!" cried Kitty. "I suppose you will. That seems to be what you
want to do--make your guests as uncomfortable as you can. You don't
want us here. You make up this foolish tariff to make trouble, and
you drive away your servants so that we feel that we are imposing on
you, and you make fun of us when we try to be helpful--"

"Why, Kitty!" exclaimed Mrs. Fenelby again.

"You do!" Kitty declared. "I'm surprised at you, Laura Fenelby, I
am indeed. I'm surprised that you should let your husband dictate
to you, and make you his slave with his tariffs and such things, but
you like it. Very well, be his slave if you want to. But I can see
one thing--Billy and I are not wanted in this house. You and your
husband just want to be alone and enjoy your selfish house. The best
thing Billy and I can do is to go. I can see very plainly now,
Laura, that you got up that silly tariff just to drive us out of the
house. Very well, we will go!"

She turned from the amazed parents of Bobberts to the amazed Billy
who was standing in the hall with the inoffensive pan of hot water
in his hands, and put her hand on his arm.

"Come!" she said. "I am going up to pack my trunks."

For a moment after the shock the Fenelbys sat in surprised silence,
looking blankly each into the other's face, and then Laura spoke.

"Tom," she gasped, "they mustn't leave this way!"

Mr. Fenelby slowly folded his napkin, and as slowly placed it in the
ring. Then he laid the ring gently on the table and arranged his
knife and fork side by side on his plate, as prescribed by the guide
books to good manners.

"She said she was going up stairs to pack her trunks," he said with
deliberation. "To pack her trunks. If she has enough to pack into
trunks, Laura, there has been smuggling going on in this house."

Mrs. Fenelby folded her napkin as slowly as her husband had just
folded his, and she kept her eyes on it as she answered.

"Tom," she said, "do you think it is quite the time now to talk of
smuggling? Wouldn't it be better if you went up and apologized to
Kitty and Billy?"

"Laura," said Mr. Fenelby, "it is always time to talk of smuggling.
The foundation of the home is order; order can only be maintained
by living up to such rules as are made; the Fenelby Domestic Tariff
is more than a rule, it is a law. If we let the laws of our home be
trampled under foot by whoever chooses the whole thing