The mother smiled, and, putting her hand on the boy's head, said:
"Perhaps you may."

Ernest never forgot the story his mother told him. It was always in his
mind whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He spent his boyhood
days in the humble little cottage, helping his mother with the simple
household duties, and, as he grew older, working in the fields to earn
their daily bread.

Ernest was a quiet boy, but happy. There was no school in the little
village, but a great teacher was there. After the day's toil was over
Ernest would sit for hours watching the Great Stone Face, and to him it
became the teacher of all that was good and noble. Many times, as the
sunset rays tinted the side of the great mountain and lighted up all the
features of the wonderful face, Ernest would imagine that it smiled on
him, and perhaps it did. Who knows?

Often a great longing would come to Ernest as he watched the Great Face,
and he would say again, "Oh, I wish the great man would come."

But the years passed by, and Ernest grew from a happy little child to a
quiet, thoughtful boy, and still the great man did not appear.

But one time a rumor went through all the valley that the great man had
at last arrived. His early home had been in the quiet valley, but as a
young man he had gone into the world to seek his fortune, and truly he
had found it, for everything he attempted prospered exceedingly, till it
might be said of him, as of Midas in the fable, that whatever his
fingers touched changed at once to piles of gold. His name was Mr.