"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 porch?"

"That was Mrs. Clemm. I go up there to borrow books; and I like Mr. Poe, only--well, he is rather unfortunate."

"Was she so beautiful?" asked the child, irrelevantly.

"Mrs. Poe? Yes; I think she must have been. She looked like a small white wraith--do you know what a wraith is?" smilingly.

"A kind of ghost. And were they very poor?"

"It's a sad story. I think they were proud as well, for any one would have come in and done any needed thing. They had friends in the city who used to visit them. Mrs. Clemm was Mrs. Poe's mother and the poet's aunt; and it is said Annabel Lee means his wife. It's a wild, musical thing. Every story or poem of his has a curious ghostly sound."

"But--the high-born kinsman--"

The little girl's eyes were vague and puzzled.

"You can't understand it. Poets say queer things. I'm not fond of poetry, only here and there. And the stories make you shiver. You wouldn't like them. He has all sorts of books, and he is very generous with them. We've planned that you are to come up and stay a week with us. Some of the folks are going away, and there will be plenty of room."

Hanny squeezed her hand. The throng of children ran over the grassy path from the shop; and they all began to clamour that Polly and Janey should come up Saturday and go crabbing with them.

Mrs. Odell said she'd see, if they could get their work done in time.

There was a hubbub of good-byes, and the small cavalcade started down the road.

CHAPTER X

WITH A POET

The city by the sea sung itself in Hanny's brain. The sweet, young, beautiful wife, ruthlessly torn away, was somewhere in space, among the stars perhaps, and not in the old graveyard. She was floating on and on amidst all lovely things and divine fragrances. She could never grow old; she would never want for anything. Ah, would she not want for the mother and the poet who loved her?

An incident that had moved her strongly only a few weeks before, was a strange bit of reminiscence that could hardly be called a story. Ben had brought home a volume of De Quincey, and "Suspiria de Profundis" was among the papers. The others were too intellectual to interest her; but the touching, tender, immeasurable longing for the little sister gone out of life, filled her inmost soul with an emotion so sacred she could not talk it over with any one. This was akin to it.

Yet Hanny did not live in the clouds or in vague memories all the time.

Her father drove up the next day, and found she was not homesick; and her mother was coming up the next week to spend the day; and everybody was well. She had a great deal to tell him; and she seemed very merry.

He wasn't quite sure about the crabbing expedition; but Mrs. Odell said there wasn't a mite of danger, for some of the big boys always went along; and that it was a regular frolic for the children.

So Saturday they put on their oldest clothes. Hanny wore an outgrown frock of Polly's. Mr. Odell said he would drive them down to the river, which would save half the walk. He had some business in that direction.

He had the farm-waggon, and put some hay in the bottom, though he insisted Hanny should sit on the seat with him. They stopped at Fordham, and took in another relay; and the children were wild with the unreasoning gladness of youth. Mr. Odell was in an uncommon good-humour, and took them down the river quite a distance, to High Bridge, and then up again, when they espied the boys and baskets and the net, which had a long handle and looked to Hanny like a butterfly-net, only larger.

A motley crew they were. The boys had their trousers rolled above their knees, and some of the girls took off their shoes and stockings and waded about in the wet, sedgy grass. There was a little dock where the boats were tied; and soon two of them were loosened and filled up with a jolly crew. Big, cheerful Cousin Ben took charge of the little girl, and would not allow the others to frighten her. Ann was quite a famous hand on these expeditions.

They rowed out a short distance, and then began business. Oh, the shrieks and laughter that came from the other boat, when some one dipped up two hands full of water and dashed it over the others. And it is strange how much you can make your hands hold at such a time. Hanny was glad she was not in that boat, when they rocked it up and down. But most of the children could swim, and they were not in the channel.

"Quick!" exclaimed Cousin Ann, and the net was held out in a twinkling, Ann drew up a great green fellow with a frightful lot of legs, and he dropped in the net. They dumped him into a basket, and covered him with a piece of old fish-net; and the more he struggled to get out, the more he entangled himself. Hanny felt rather glad he was not down her end of the boat.

They had brilliant luck for a little while. Then the other boat shifted about; they had not caught a single crab, and there were loud murmurs of discontent. The others had the best place.

"You make such a racket you frighten them away," said Ben.

"Can they hear?" asked Hanny.

"I think about everything in this world can see and hear in some fashion."

They certainly were dreadful looking. The laughter and the exclamations, the disappointment at losing one, the funny conundrums the children propounded to one another, and the limp appearance of the voyagers, partly made amends for the sudden fright every time the great sprawling things came up. Hanny would not even undertake the capture of one.

The crabs grew wise presently. Not one of them could be aroused to the faintest curiosity concerning bait. Ben's boat had nineteen, the other eleven. They rowed up to the little dock, and managed to get them all in one basket. Jack showed Hanny how you could take hold of a crab, and render him helpless. It certainly did look funny to see him struggling with all his might and main, and his numerous legs. The two front ones were very fierce.

"He could give you an awful pinch with them," said Jack; and he made believe fling him at a group of girls, who scattered pellmell.

"I suppose the legs are oars, and help him swim," said Hanny.

"And help him grab his prey. He's a sort of savage fellow, and lives on smaller folks."

Then Ben and Jack went to dig for clams. There were very nice clam and oyster beds along the river then. There were not many people to disturb them, and no sewage to starve them out.

Hanny thought planting oysters a very funny idea. They were put in their beds like other babies.

The boys, and some of the girls, picked up the clams, until they had a half-bushel basket full. Tony Creese, the black man who did odd jobs, was to drive down for the "freight;" but he seemed in no hurry. Some of the boys went in swimming; and Janey Odell did wish she had brought another frock along. She could swim very well. They waded instead. Ben walked up to a little bank that, having lain in the sun all day, was warm and dry, and stretched himself out. Ann was too big to go "larking"

about with the girls, so she and Hanny, and one or two others, sat down on the soft, sunburned turf.

How beautiful it all was! The sun was going down behind the New Jersey hills. The little rise of ground between this and the Hudson shut out the river; but it could not shut out the amethystine splendour. Back of it all was heaven, to the child's faith. Miss Lois and her sister were there, and old Mr. Bounett, and the poet's young wife, and ever so many others. It was only the other side of the clouds, with their scarlet and gold and green battlements. She could see the ships sailing into port.

She recalled "Pilgrim's Progress," and Christiana going across. In that moment of ecstasy she could have gone herself.

Tony came down the road singing "Oh, Susannah;" Ben answered "Hillo!"

and shook himself like a great bear. The two baskets were put into the waggon.

"Now you girls who are too delicate for a long walk, or too much worn out by your day's toil, had better hop in. Ann, you go and keep an eye on Hanny. Now who else?"

They were all pretty tired with their racing about, and the three smallest ones were picked out, as there was but one horse. The others formed the rear-guard, and marched on behind, with their arms about each other. They were too tired for even the tempting game of "tag," or the ambition of running races.

Mr. Odell was waiting at the uncle's, having come around the other way.

Supper was ready; but he thought they had better be "gettin' on," as mother would wait supper for them.

Hanny was very tired, and went to bed immediately after the meal.

They had some splendid clam-fritters for breakfast. Ben had proposed to divide the crabs; but Mr. Odell reckoned, "He'd go crabbing the first leisure day," and was satisfied with part of the clams.

And then, unexpected delight, Stephen and Dolly and the two babies came up to dinner. Little Stevie captured everybody, he was so merry and cunning; and Polly wished they could keep him.

"When he gets to be a big boy, and has a school vacation, I'll be very glad to send him up, I dare say," was the response.

"But, dear me, we'll be big too," said Polly; "and it won't be any fun."

Dolly told her little sister-in-law all the news, and what everybody was doing. It seemed as if she had been away so long. Mother had spent a day with Martha, which she had been promising to do ever since Martha was married.