She stood in the rose-hooded doorway leaning upon a broom.  Her cheeks were pink with the exertion she had been making and her sleeves were rolled up, leaving her dimpled, white arms bare to the elbow.  Her soft eyes were radiant and she was laughing for sheer delight in the picture the stately “Muddie” made white-washing the palings that enclosed the wee garden-spot from the street.  When she saw her husband at the gate she dropped her broom and ran into his arms like a child.

“Oh, Buddie, Buddie,” she cried, “are not our palings beautiful?  Muddie did them for a surprise for you!”

“Buddie” was enthusiastic in admiration of the white palings and praised the gentle white-washer to the skies.  Then the three happy workers went inside to their simple repast, which the sauce of content turned into a banquet.

The door had been left open to the sunshine and the result was an unexpected guest—­a handsome tortoise-shell kitten which strayed in to ask a share of their meal.  She paused, timidly, upon the threshold for a moment, then fixing her amber eyes upon The Dreamer, made straight for him and arching her back and waving her tail like a plume, in the air she rubbed her glossy sides against his ankle in a manner that was truly irresistible.  All three gave her a warm welcome.  Edgar regarded her appearance as a good omen; Virginia was delighted to have a pet, and “Catalina,” as they named her, became from the moment a regular and favorite member of the family.

* * * * *

The cottage contained but five rooms—­three downstairs (including the kitchen) and upstairs two, with low-pitched, shelving walls and narrow little slits of windows on a level with the floor.  But as has been said, it was large enough—­large enough to shelter love and happiness and genius—­large enough to hold the dream of the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, with its fair river and its enchanted trees and flowers, in which the three dreamers lived apart and for each other only.

It was large enough for the freest expansion the world had yet seen of the vivid-hued imagination of Edgar Poe.

Night and day his brain was busy—­“fancy unto fancy linking”—­and the periodicals teemed with his work.

In The American Museum, of Baltimore appeared his fantastic prose-poem, “Ligeia,” with his theory of the power of the human will for a text—­his favorite of all of his “tales”—­his favorite, in the weakness of whose own will lay the real tragedy of his life!  In The Gift, of Philadelphia, appeared, a little later the dramatic “conscience-story,” “William Wilson,” with its clear-cut pictures of school-life at old Stoke-Newington. The Baltimore Book gave the thrilling fable, “Silence,” to the world.  The weirdly beautiful “Haunted Palace” and “The Fall of the House of Usher” followed in quick succession—­in The American Museum.

“The Fall of the House of Usher,” brought The Dreamer a pat-on-the back from “little Tom” White, who in writing of the tale in The Southern Literary Messenger, informed the world:  “We always predicted that Mr. Poe would reach a high grade in American literature; only we wish Mr. Poe would stick to the department of criticism; there he is an able professor.”