LITMIR.BIZ

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cow-bells and sleigh-bells, and then entered on tip-toe with painful care.

      “Missus Fenelby, ma’am,” said Bridget, in a loud whisper, “would ye be havin’ th’ milkman lave wan or two quarts ov milk in th’ mornin’?”

      “Why, Bridget,” said Mrs. Fenelby, “haven’t I told you we always want two quarts?”

      “Yis, ma’am,” said Bridget. “An’ ye can’t say that ye haven’t got thim iv’ry mornin’, either. If ye can, an’ wish t’ say it, ma’am, ye may as well say it now as another toime. I may have me faults, ma’am – ”

      “You have always attended to the milkman just as I wished,” said Mrs. Fenelby, cheerfully. “Exactly as I wanted you to,” she added, for Bridget still waited. “And we will continue to get two quarts a day.”

      “Very well, ma’am,” whispered Bridget. “I was just thinkin’ mebby ye had changed yer moind about how much t’ git. It is all th’ same t’ me, Missus Fenelby, ma’am, how much ye git. I am not wan of thim that don’t allow th’ lady ov th’ house t’ change her moind if she wants to. I take no offince if she changes her moind. I am used t’ sich goin’s on, ma’am, an’ I know my place an’ don’t wish t’ dictate. Wan quart or two quarts or three quarts is all th’ same t’ me.”

      “Bridget,” said Mrs. Fenelby, laying down her sewing, “do we need three quarts of milk?”

      “No, ma’am,” said Bridget.

      “Well,” asked Mrs. Fenelby, “are two quarts too much?”

      “No, ma’am,” said Bridget. “But if ye wanted t’ change yer moind – ”

      “Not at all!” said Mrs. Fenelby, kindly but firmly. “Good-night, Bridget.”

      Bridget backed out of the door, and Mr. Fenelby, who had kept his head close to his book, turned to his wife with a frown on his brow.

      “What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Fenelby, after a fleeting glance at his face.

      “Laura,” he said, “what shall we do with Bridget?”

      Mrs. Fenelby looked up quickly. She quite forgot her sewing.

      “Do with Bridget?” she asked. “What do you mean, Tom? Has Bridget said anything about leaving? And I was only this afternoon congratulating myself on how good she was! I declare I don’t know what this world is going to do for servants – we pay Bridget more than anyone in this town, I know we do, and treat her like one of the family, almost, and now she is going to leave! It’s discouraging! When did she tell you she was going to leave?”

      “Leave?” exclaimed Mr. Fenelby. “I never thought of such a thing. I was only wondering what to do with her in – in the Commonwealth of Bobberts.”

      “Oh!” cried Mrs. Fenelby, with a sigh of profound relief. She took up her sewing again, and bent her head over it. “Is that all! Of course Bridget expects to be treated like one of the family. I told her when she came that I always treated my maids as part of the family.”

      “But we can’t have Bridget come in and sit with us whenever we have a session of congress,” said Mr. Fenelby.

      “Certainly not!” said Mrs. Fenelby, very decidedly. “I wouldn’t think of such a thing!”

      “So she can’t be a State,” said Mr. Fenelby, “and if we made her a Territory it would be as bad. She could come in and talk. She would insist on talking.”

      “And if we did not let her,” said Mrs. Fenelby, “she would leave, and I know we could never get another girl as good as Bridget.”

      “Now you get some idea of the hard work our forefathers had when they made the United States,” said Mr. Fenelby, rising and walking up and down the room. “But of course they had no case like Bridget. Bridget is more like a – more like the Philippines. Well!” he exclaimed, “it is a wonder I didn’t think of that in the first place!”

      “What, dear?” asked his wife.

      “That Bridget is a colony,” said Mr. Fenelby. “That is just what she is! She is a foreign possession, controlled by the nation, but having no voice in its affairs. She can pay taxes, but she can’t vote.”

      He hurriedly wrote the final words of the Constitution of the Commonwealth of Bobberts in his book and drew a line underneath it, for Bobberts was showing signs of awakening. Under the line Mr. Fenelby wrote “First Session of Congress.”

      Bobberts awoke in a good humor, ready for his evening meal, and Mrs. Fenelby put aside her sewing and took him.

      “I am glad Bobberts is awake,” said Mr. Fenelby, “because now we can go ahead and vote on the tariff. I wouldn’t like to do it if he was not present, because he has a right to take part in the debate, and it would not be fair to hold the first session without a full representation. Now, suppose we make the duty on all goods and things brought into the house an even ten per cent.?”

      “That would be nice,” said Mrs. Fenelby, absently, for she was busy with Bobberts. “How much is ten per cent. of twenty-five hundred dollars, Tom?”

      “Two hundred and fifty,” said Mr. Fenelby, “and that is what we ought to save for Bobberts every year. Ten per cent. will just do it.”

      He had his pen ready to write it in the book, when a new difficulty came to mind.

      “Laura!” he exclaimed. “Ten per cent. will not do it! What about the rent? We spend fifty dollars a month for rent, and that is nothing we bring into the house. And theater tickets, when you go to town and buy them there and use them before you come home. And my lunches. And my club dues. And your pew rent. And ice cream sodas. And all that sort of thing. We couldn’t collect a cent of duty on any of those things, because we don’t bring them into the house. Ten per cent. is not enough. We ought to make it at least – ”

      He figured roughly on a sheet of paper, while the other State and the Territory attended strictly to their occupation of feeding the Territory.

      “I should say, roughly speaking,” said Mr. Fenelby, “that to raise two hundred and fifty dollars a year we ought to make the duty sixteen and three-quarters per cent., but I don’t think that is advisable. It would be too hard to figure. I might be able to do it, Laura, but if you bought a waist for one dollar and ninety-eight cents, and had to figure sixteen and three-quarters per cent. on it, I don’t believe you could do it.”

      “The idea!” said Mrs. Fenelby. “I would never think of buying a waist for one dollar and ninety-eight cents. I try to be economical, Tom, but you know you always like me to look well, and those cheap waists do not look well, and they are really dearer in the long run, because they get out of shape in a few days, and never wear well, anyway. The very cheapest waist I have bought for years was that one I got for three dollars and forty-seven cents, and I could have done much better if I had bought the goods and made it up myself.”

      “Ah – yes,” said Mr. Fenelby, hesitatingly. “I am afraid you did not just catch my meaning, Laura. It does not make any difference whether the waist costs one dollar and ninety-eight cents or twelve dollars and sixty-three cents. I mean that it would be a hard job to figure sixteen and three-quarters per cent. of it. Suppose we leave the duty at ten per cent. on necessities, and make it thirty per cent. on luxuries? That ought to make it come out about two hundred and fifty dollars a year, and if it does not we can have a meeting of congress any time and raise the duty.”

      “That would be very nice,” said Mrs. Fenelby.

      So it was decided that the tariff duty on necessities was to be ten per cent., and that on luxuries it should be thirty per cent., and Mr. Fenelby wrote down in the book these facts, and the Fenelby Tariff was in effect.

      II

      THE BOX OF BON-BONS

      The financial arrangements of the Fenelbys were extremely simple. Every week Mr. Fenelby received his salary and brought every cent of it home to Laura. Out of this she handed him back a sum that was unvaryingly the same, and

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