Nobody wanted to go home, of course. But in time, mere ordinary fathers and mothers and big sisters and big brothers, in ugly, common clothes, came and dragged away the Shakespeare people, one by one. When they had all, as Prospero said, “melted into air, into thin air,” when even Titania had waved her wand and disappeared with a kiss on Ariel’s cheek, this happy Spirit and Prospero and the Witch, Puck and Caliban, were left alone in front of the library fireplace.
“Wasn’t it a lovely party!” cried Puck.
“I am sure Aunt Nan would have been pleased,” said the Witch, looking up at the portrait over the mantel.
“Just think what a happy time she has given us; dear Aunt Nan!” said Ariel.
“Yes; it was a very nice party, indeed,” acknowledged Prospero, stroking his long beard gravely. “I confess I never expected to get so much pleasure out of poetry. But now, to quote myself, ‘I’ll to my book.’ Good-night.” And he retired to his study.
“I’m so sleepy!” said John. “Isn’t it too bad that poor Shakespeare died before they invented ice-cream?”
“Yes,” said Mary, “I wish he were still alive. I should like to see him. But when I look about the library now I feel as if all the books were alive—just full of live people!”
“They are alive so long as we read them,” said Mrs. Corliss.
“I’m going to keep them alive!” cried Mary.
“Miaou!” protested Caliban, scratching wearily at his ribbon. He at least was tired of wearing his costume.