As she spoke, the party stopped in front of the well-known bust of our poet, Longfellow, which I suppose every American is proud to see. "So they read 'Hiawatha,' even in England," Betty remarked. "There are tablets all over the floor, under our feet! Look, I'm standing on Dickens' grave this very minute! And there's 'Oh, Rare Ben Jonson,' right there on the wall; I've always heard of that. And here's Spenser, and Chaucer, and Browning, and Tennyson, very close together. Oh! It's dreadful! I don't want to step on them! Why, everybody who ever was anybody seems to be here!" gasped John, forgetting his grammar in his interest. "Here are busts of Scott (there's the man for me!), and Burns, Goldsmith, and Coleridge; I know all these names. Here's a statue of Shakespeare, though of course he isn't buried here. There's a tablet to Jenny Lind. Wasn't she a singer? Seems to me I've heard my grandpa speak of her. And, if here isn't Thackeray's grave--there in the floor again! Well! Well!" "Come over here, John, and see this," called Philip, pointing to a tomb on which was this inscription: Thomas Parr of ye county of Salop, born A.D. 1483. He lived in the reignes of ten princes, viz.--King Edward IV, King Edward V, King Richard III, King Henry VII, King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James, and King Charles; aged 152 years, and was buryed here, 1635. "Well, that beats them all!" laughed John, who was greatly pleased. Mrs. Pitt now led the rest into the little chapel of St. Faith, off the south transept, where they sat down to rest. "It's the most wonderful place I ever dreamed of!" said Betty quietly, as though she were talking to herself. "This little chapel is the quaintest, oldest thing I ever saw! The walls are so dark; that tiny window up so high, hardly lets in any light at all; and the altar, with the faded picture, is so strange! I can't believe it is the twentieth century; the people in the Abbey now don't seem real to me at all. They look so small and shadowy beside the huge statues of people of other days! Surely the people the statues represent belong here, and not we! Why, I feel so far back in history that I shouldn't be in the least surprised to see Raleigh, or Chaucer, or Queen Elizabeth, walk into this chapel, right now! I should probably go up and say 'How do you do?'" she added laughingly. Betty did not know that any one had heard her talking, but Mrs. Pitt had been listening, and when Betty was silent, she said: "Come, let's go out into the sunshine of the cloisters now. I am really afraid to have Betty stay in here any longer! The first thing we know, she'll be disappearing into the Middle Ages! She's almost there now!"