our again; so
Father Janos turned to Kvapka, the sacristan, and said:

"Run back as fast as you can and fetch the umbrella out of my room."

Kvapka turned and stared; how was he to know what an umbrella was?

"Well," said Father Janos, "if you like it better, fetch the large,
round piece of red linen I found two days ago spread over my little
sister."

"Ah, now I understand!"

The priest took shelter in a cottage until the fleet-footed Kvapka
returned with the umbrella, which his reverence, to the great
admiration of the crowd, with one sweeping movement of his hand spread
out in such a fashion that it looked like a series of bats' wings
fastened together. Then, taking hold of the handle, he raised it so as
to cover his head, and walked on with stately step, without getting wet
a bit; for the drops fell angrily on the strange tent spread over him,
and, not being able to touch his reverence, fell splashing on to the
ground. The umbrella was the great attraction for all the peasants at
the funeral, and they exchanged many whispered remarks about the (to
them) strange thing.

"That's what St. Peter brought," they said.

Only the beautiful verses the schoolmaster had composed for the occasion
distracted their attention for a while, and sobs broke forth as the
various relations heard their names mentioned in the lines in which the
dead woman was supposed to be taking leave of them:

"Good-by, good-by, my dearest friends; Pal Lajko my brother, Gyoergy
Klincsok my cousin," etc.

The whole of Pal Lajko's household began to weep bitterly, and Mrs.
Klincsok exclaimed rapturously:

"How on earth does he manage to compose such beautiful lines!"

Which exclamation inspired the schoolmaster with fresh courage, and,
raising his voice, he continued haranguing the assembled friends in the
dead woman's name, not forgetting a single one, and there was not a dry
eye among them.

For some time after they had buried Mrs. Gongoly the grand doings at the
funeral were still the talk of the place, and even at the funeral the
old women had picked out pretty Anna Tyurek as the successor of Mrs.
Gongoly, and felt sure it would not be long before her noted "mentyek"
had an owner. (Every well-to-do Slovak peasant buys a long cloak of
sheepskin for his wife; it is embroidered outside in bright colors, and
inside is the long silky hair of the Hungarian sheep. It is only worn on
Sundays and holidays, and is passed on from one generation t