ul stone contained not only food, but clothes and
everything you could possibly want in the house.

At first a language was often spoken at meals which was strange to
Elsa, but by the help of the lady and her daughter she began slowly
to understand it, though it was years before she was able to speak it
herself.

One day she asked Kisika why the thirteenth dish came daily to the table
and was sent daily away untouched, but Kisika knew no more about it
than she did. The girl must, however, have told her mother what Elsa had
said, for a few days later she spoke to Elsa seriously:

'Do not worry yourself with useless wondering. You wish to know why
we never eat of the thirteenth dish? That, dear child, is the dish of
hidden blessings, and we cannot taste of it without bringing our happy
life here to an end. And the world would be a great deal better if
men, in their greed, did not seek to snatch every thing for themselves,
instead of leaving something as a thankoffering to the giver of the
blessings. Greed is man's worst fault.'

The years passed like the wind for Elsa, and she grew into a lovely
woman, with a knowledge of many things that she would never have learned
in her native village; but Kisika was still the same young girl that she
had been on the day of her first meeting with Elsa. Each morning they
both worked for an hour at reading and writing, as they had always done,
and Elsa was anxious to learn all she could, but Kisika much preferred
childish games to anything else. If the humour seized her, she would
fling aside her tasks, take her treasure box, and go off to play in the
sea, where no harm ever came to her.

'What a pity,' she would often say to Elsa, 'that you have grown so big,
you cannot play with me any more.'

Nine years slipped away in this manner, when one day the lady called
Elsa into her room. Elsa was surprised at the summons, for it was
unusual, and her heart sank, for she feared some evil threatened her. As
she crossed the threshold, she saw that the lady's cheeks were flushed,
and her eyes full of tears, which she dried hastily, as if she would
conceal them from the girl. 'Dearest child,' she began, 'the time has
come when we must part.'

'Part?' cried Elsa, burying her head in the lady's lap. 'No, dear lady,
that can never be till death parts us. You once opened your arms to me;
you cannot thrust me away now.'

'Ah, be quiet, child,' replied the lady; 'you do not know what I would
d