"I shan't say anything; I shall read it to you," she began; "and if you can't make anything of it I s'pose I must explain it afterwards. It's from our father to Mrs. MacDougall."
"What, to mother?" Duncan asked.
"H'm, you'll see presently," Elsie said impatiently. "Worst of it is, there's a piece torn off all along, which makes it difficult to read. It begins, 'Dear Mrs. MacDougall.' Oh, I forgot. It's put at the top, 'Kensington, London.' That's the capital of England, you know, and it means that the person what wrote it lived there."
"But father didn't, did he?" began Duncan.
"Hold your tongue till I've read it," Elsie replied. "I can't stop to explain beforehand. This is it:—
"'Dear Mrs. MacDouga
I have to be
teller of very bad new
sister, my poor wife die
morning. It will not be a
shock to you than it wa
me. I had no thought
it was likely to happen
a few hours previous
sent her love to you
her mother.
The two little things ar
but I have been
what I can do with th
I have not seen them'"
(here the page turns over and the missing words are from the commencement of the line)—
"'night and I don't feel
to see them yet. The sound
ir voices is too much for
hat can I, a helpless
wer do for them. They
be better off among their
kinsfolk than left
mercy of strangers. I often
I made a mistake in
nging poor Nannie to this
cat crowded city away from
ive moors.
The children I am told
eak and delicate. There
be a chance for them'"
(here the fresh page begins)—