. There was a long tear
at the side, as if the wearer's hand had missed the actual pocket and
been thrust carelessly or roughly through the leather.

Elsa put her hand through the hole, too, to see the extent of the
mischief. Yes! that was it, her father must more than once have missed
the pocket and put his hand into the hole, making it bigger and bigger.
Why! there was a whole lot of rubbish deep down inside the lining. Elsa
drew out an empty tobacco-pouch, a bit of string, a length of tinder,
and from the very bottom, where it lay in a crinkled mass, a ball of
crumpled paper.

This she smoothed out, holding it over her knee. It was a letter--one
which must have been delivered on the very day when her father last wore
the bunda. The envelope had not been broken: old Kapus hadn't had time
to read his letter, the last which he had received before living death
encompassed him. The tears gathered in Elsa's eyes at thought of her
father handling this very letter with shaking yet still living hands:
now they were incapable even of gripping this tiny piece of paper.

But then--two years ago, her mother said it was, almost to a day when
last he wore the bunda--then he had received the letter from the postman
and evidently thrust it into his pocket, meaning to read it at some more
convenient time.

The peasants of that part of the world have never quite lost their
distrust of railways, of telegrams, and even of letters--they are
half-afraid of them all, afraid with that vague, unreasoning fear which
animals have for things they see yet cannot understand.

Elsa handled this unopened letter with something of that same fear. She
did not think at first of looking at the superscription. Who could have
been writing to her father two years ago? He had no rich friends who
could afford to spend money on note-paper and stamps. There was no news
in the great outer world which someone could have wished to impart to
him. The light indeed was very dim before Elsa, sitting here with the
old bunda on her knee, thought of looking more closely at the envelope.

She bent down and out toward the light, trying to decipher the writing.

The letter was addressed to her.

Oh! it was quite clear!

"Tekintetes Kapus Elsa kisasszonynak."

It was quite, quite clearly written. The letter was addressed to her.
The postman had brought it here two years ago: her father had taken it
from him and thrust it into the pocket of his bunda, meaning to gi