"The very image of the Great Stone Face!" shouted the people. "Sure
enough, the old prophecy is true, and here we have the great man come at
last."

By the roadside there chanced to be a poor woman and her two children,
who, as the carriage passed, held out their hands and asked for help. A
hand was thrust out of the window, and a few pennies were thrown on the
ground. Then the carriage rolled on, and the people continued to shout,
"He is the very image of the Great Stone Face."

But Ernest stood apart from the crowd, nor did he join in the shout, for
his heart was full of sorrow and disappointment. Through an opening in
the trees he saw the Great Stone Face looking benignly down upon him,
and the great lips seemed to say: "He will come. Fear not, Ernest. The
man will come."

The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grown to be a
young man now. He was not much noticed in the valley, for he was still
quiet and modest. They saw nothing remarkable about his way of living,
save that when the work of the day was done he loved to go apart and
gaze upon the Great Stone Face.

They knew not that it had become his greatest teacher, filling his heart
and mind with thoughts and hopes far above earthly things.

By this time poor old Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried, and the
strange part about the matter was that when his wealth left him, as it
did some time before he died, and he became a poor old man, the people
seemed to forget that there ever had been a resemblance to the Great