Bobberts had been put to bed, and his parents had become almost merry with their old-time merriment as they contemplated the speedy over-throw of the Fenelby Domestic Tariff. The joy that comes from a tax repealed is greater than the peace that comes from paying a tax honestly. There is no fun in paying taxes. Not the least. "I think, Laura," said Mr. Fenelby, when he and his wife had listened to the slow creaking of the hammock hooks for some minutes, "you had better go out and tell them to come in." Mrs. Fenelby went. She let the porch screen slam as she went out--which was only fair--and she heard the low whispers change to louder tones, and a slight movement of feet; but she was not, evidently, intruding, for Kitty and Billy were quite primly disposed in the hammock when she reached them. "Hello!" she said pleasantly, "Won't you come in? We are going to vote on the tariff." "Go ahead and vote," said Billy cheerfully. "We won't interfere." "But we can't vote until you come in," explained Mrs. Fenelby. "We haven't a quorum until you come in. You are States, and we can't do anything until you come in." "Did you try?" asked Billy, just as cheerfully as before. "We don't want to vote. We are comfortable out here. If we must vote, bring your congress out here." "Billy, I would if I could," said Mrs. Fenelby, "but I can't! Bobberts has to be present, and he can't be brought out into the night air." Kitty half rose from the hammock. She felt to see that her hair was in order. "Come on, Billy," she said. "Be accommodating," and they went in. It was necessary to bring Bobberts