“I think Caliban likes some plays better than others,” she confided to her mother. “He didn’t seem to care so much for ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ But then, I had almost finished it before he came. He was crazy over ‘Julius Cæsar,’—you ought to have heard him purr at Marc Antony’s great speech! And now that I have begun ‘The Tempest,’ he gets so excited, Mother!”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Corliss; “that’s where he comes in, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “Oh, Mumsie, I was so surprised when I found Caliban’s name in the list of characters! I just shouted it right out; and you ought to have seen Caliban arch his neck and rub his head against me, and purr like a little furnace. I’m sure he knew it was his play. And isn’t it a lovely play, Mother? I like it best of all.”
“So do I,” said her mother.
One day Mary coaxed Katy Summers home with her after school. “The time has come for you to keep your promise, Katy,” said Mary. “You’ve got to listen to Shakespeare now.”
“All right,” said Katy resignedly. “I suppose I must, sooner or later.”
“I am going to read you some of ‘The Tempest,’” said Mary. “I want you to like it as well as I do.”
“You know I never cared for poetry,” said Katy doubtfully.
“But you will care for this,” said Mary positively, “especially if you hear it read. That’s the way everybody ought to know poetry, I think. Why, even Caliban likes to hear me read poetry. See, here he comes to listen.”
Sure enough, at the sound of Mary’s voice Caliban had come running into the library with a little purr. He looked very handsome and fluffy these days. Waving his tail majestically, he jumped up into Mary’s lap and sat on her knee blinking his green eyes at Katy as if to say, “Now you are going to hear something fine!”