He bade us remember that day by day in the little
chapel our names, and the name of Hakon also, would not be
forgotten; and blessed us, and went to his cell. Then one of the
brothers came and asked Gerda to see what she had left in her cell,
for none had touched it yet, and she went with him. Soon she came
out with that little silver cup, which we had found in the
penthouse when we first opened it, and asked me if she might give
it to the hermits.
"They will have no use for it," I said, smiling at the thought.
"I think they will," she said. "Ask, for I cannot."
So I asked the brother who was with us, and he looked at the cup
gravely. It was wrought with a strangely twisted and plaited
pattern.
"Why, yes," he said. "I myself can set a stem to it, and thereafter
it will be a treasure to us, for our chalice is but of white metal.
It will mind us of you every day, in ways which are more wondrous
than you can yet know. We may take it, therefore, but you must not
offer us aught else. We are vowed to poverty."
Now, I did not know of what he spoke, but Gerda did in some way,
which is beyond me. Wherefore she was more than content. It is my
thought that all her days it will be a good and pleasant thing to
mind the use that cup came to at the last, and where it is.
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