isest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. So
she only said to him, "Perhaps you may."

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was
always in his mind, whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He
spent his childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, and was
dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things, assisting
her much with his little hands, and more with his loving heart. In
this manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a
mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with labour in the
fields, but with more intelligence brightening his aspect than is seen
in many lads who have been taught at famous schools. Yet Ernest had
had no teacher, save only that the Great Stone Face became one to him.
When the toil of the day was over, he would gaze at it for hours,
until he began to imagine that those vast features recognised him, and
gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement, responsive to his own
look of veneration. We must not take upon us to affirm that this was a
mistake, although the Face may have looked no more kindly at Ernest
than at all the world beside. But the secret was, that the boy's
tender and confiding simplicity discerned what other people could not
see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became his peculiar
portion.

About this time, there went a rumour throughout the valley, that the
great man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance
to the Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seems that, many
years before, a young man had migrated from the valley and settled at
a distant seaport, where, after getting together a little money, he
had set up as a shopkeeper. His name--but I could never learn whether
it was his real one, or a nickname that had grown out of his habits
and success in life--was Gathergold. Being shrewd and active, and
endowed by Providence with that inscrutable faculty which develops
itself in what the world calls luck, he became an exceedingly rich
merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of bulky-bottomed ships. All the
countries of the globe appeared to join hands for the mere purpose of
adding heap after heap to the mountainous accumulation of this one
man's wealth. The cold regions of the north, almost within the gloom
and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their tribute in the shape
of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of her rivers, and
gathered up th