Once a week we gathered in several high school pupils who lived near by--Mike's Nora, a boy, and three other girls--and read Shakespeare. It took them two months to read one play in school, but we read a play in two or three evenings, each of us taking a part. I showed them pictures of the ancient playhouses, and explained as best I could the conditions of stage productions in various periods. Stella supplied the necessary philology. We had a real course in Shakespeare, and yet one which interested the children, for they were reading the plays aloud, and visualizing them. One evening we dressed up in costume, so far as we could, amid much laughter, and acted a scene from "As You Like It," with Nora as Rosalind (she wore my knickerbockers and a long cape of Stella's, and blushed adorably), and Mrs. Pillig and Peter called in as audience. Before the winter was over, two or three other children from the village had begged to come to the class, and made the long, cold trip out to the farm on foot every week. We had cake and chocolate when the lessons were over. As Stella and I stood in the door listening to the young voices die away down the road, we used to look at one another happily. "Oh," she once cried, "how much you can do for folks in the country! In town we'd pay $4 to see Shakespeare, played by professionals, and then go selfishly home. Here we can help give him to these children, with all that means. And some of them so need it! Why, look at Joe Bostwick! When he first began to come he had the manners of a bear, and read like a seven-year-old child. I don't believe he'd _ever_ read out loud, or been of an evening among nice people. Now he's getting to know how to behave in company, poor fellow, and he reads almost intelligently!" "You don't want to go back to the city, then?" I smiled. "Oh, John, I never want to go back to the city," she answered. "I want to live here forever. I want to do more and more for these people. I want to do more and more for Twin Fires. I want to know more and more what I've never known--the sense of being rooted to the land, of having a home. Our grandfathers used to know that, but in our modern cities we have forgotten. I want to die in the house I've always lived in." "It's a little soon to plan for that," said I, as we entered the south room again, but I knew what she meant.