It was a very funny thing to see Wall hold up his fingers to make a chink through which Pyramus and Thisbe might kiss each other. And when Lion begged the audience not to be frightened by his roar, the children shrieked with laughter.
But funniest of all was when Jimmy Perry as Moonshine came in with the old tin lantern to represent the Moon, and tried to make Caliban in his green ribbon act the part of the Moon Man’s dog. Caliban didn’t like theatricals. He would not act the part, but lay down in the middle of the floor, with his feet in the air, and his ears laid flat, ready to scratch the Moon Man if he persisted. The Prologue had to rush in again and drag him off.
When the Lion had roared and made Pyramus think he had eaten poor Thisbe, so that the hasty fellow stabbed himself in grief; and when Thisbe had died, too, after sobbing about her lover’s “lily lips” and “cherry nose,” the little play was over, and everybody in a good humor. And the children said, “I didn’t know Shakespeare was so funny, did you?”
Then Ariel and Titania, Prospero, and the Witch made a magic—they were a mighty quartet, you see. John suggested that they were really the “Biggest Four.” They waved their wands and lifted their hands, and Caliban helped with a mighty “Wow!” Then in came Puck and the other fairies bearing a huge iron kettle, with a ladle sticking out of the top. From the kettle rose a cloud of smoke and a sweet smell that made Caliban sneeze. The fairies put the kettle in the middle of the room, and the four magicians waved their wands over it, and moved slowly about it singing,—
“Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire, burn, and cauldron, bubble!”
When the spell was finished, the smoke died away, and the Witch stooped over and ladled something out, which she threw into the fireplace. “Now, come, everybody!” she cried in a cracked voice, “and dip pot-luck out of the magic kettle.”
One by one the guests came and helped themselves to a ladleful of pot-luck. The “luck” turned out to be a tissue-paper package tied with red ribbon. In each package was a little present. Sometimes the children did not get an appropriate gift; but then they could “swap.” Shylock, who was one of the biggest boys, drew a Japanese doll, which he exchanged for a jack-knife that had fallen to the lot of a little girl-fairy. Cleopatra drew a conductor’s whistle, and Hamlet had a beautiful bow of pink hair-ribbon; so they made a trade. The Ghost was made happy with a jews-harp, and the Ass secured a fan; while fat Falstaff made every one roar with laughter by unrolling from the great bundle of tissue paper, which he had carefully picked out, a tiny thimble.
After this they danced and played games, and made the roof of Aunt Nan’s old house echo with such sounds as it had not heard for many years. Shakespeare characters flitted from room to room, up the stairs to the attic and down to the cellar, in a joyous game of hide-and-seek. And nobody said “Don’t!” or “Careful!” or “Sh!” This was a night when Dream-People had their way undisturbed.
Then they all went out into the dining-room and had supper—sandwiches and chocolate and cake and ice-cream. And they all voted that they liked Shakespeare very much, and that they ought to celebrate his birthday every year.