ey were almost out of provisions, and suffered many hardships.
So the wisdom of the world had amounted to something.

The children came in. They were going up the road, and didn't Hanny want
to join them? Mrs. Odell said they must not stay very long, she was
going home before supper.

There was a protest about this; but Mrs. Odell said there were people
and children enough without them, and she had told her husband they
would be home to supper.

"Do we go by the poet's house?" Hanny asked as they passed the
cross-road.

"The poet?" Two or three of the children stared blankly.

"Oh, Hanny means that Mr. Poe. Why, yes; it's the old Cromwell house. It
isn't much to see. There, that little cottage."

No, it was not much to see,--a very bird's nest house with a great tree
shading it, and a little porch at the side. A rather thin elderly woman
sat sewing in a rocking-chair. She did not even look up at the children.

They were full of fun and nonsense, and presently were joined by two
neighbouring girls. They went up by the old church, and then they
wandered to the graveyard. It was a rather neglected place, as country
graveyards were wont to be at that time. Some red clovers were in bloom,
and a few belated buttercups. The trees were rather straggling, a few
magnificent in their age. There were long-armed rose-trees that had done
their best in the earlier season, a few wild roses, pale from growing in
the shade, and the long slender blades of grass fell about in very
weakness. There were some curious inscriptions; there were places where
relatives of several of the children were buried.

"Oh, Hanny, come here," said Cousin Ann. "That Mr. Poe's wife is buried
here. It's the Valentine plot. They're going to take her away sometime.
They're all very poor, you know. She died in the winter. People said she
was beautiful; but,"--Ann lowered her voice,--"they were awful poor, and
it is said she didn't have comfortable things. I should hate to be so
poor; shouldn't you?"

Hanny shuddered. She was glad to get out in the sunshine again with her
few wild flowers in her hand.

Bessie Valentine made them come in and have a chunk of cake, and it was
a chunk indeed. Those who liked had a glass of buttermilk.

Cousin Jennie had gone up to the corner to look for them. Hanny espied
her, and ran forward.

"Oh," she cried, "I've seen the house where Mr. Poe lives. And we went
in the graveyard. Who was the other lady sitting on the p