"Mother, said he, while the Titanic visage smiled on him, "I wishthat it could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice mustneeds be pleasant. If I were to see a man with such a face, I shouldlove him dearly.""If an old prophecy should come to pass," answered his mother,"we may see a man, some time or other, with exactly such a face asthat.""What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?" eagerly inquiredErnest. "Pray tell me all about it!"So his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her,when she herself was younger than little Ernest; a story, not ofthings that were past, but of what was yet to come; a story,nevertheless, so very old, that even the Indians, who formerlyinhabited this valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to whom,as they affirmed, it had been murmured by the mountain streams, andwhispered by the wind among the tree-tops. The purport was, that, atsome future day, a child should be born hereabouts, who was destinedto become the greatest and noblest personage of his time, and whosecountenance, in manhood, should bear an exact resemblance to the GreatStone Face. Not a few old-fashioned people, and young ones likewise,in the ardor of their hopes, still cherished an enduring faith in thisold prophecy. But others, who had seen more of the world, hadwatched and waited till they were weary, and had beheld no man withsuch a face, nor any man that proved to be much greater or nobler thanhis neighbors, concluded it to be nothing but an idle tale. At allevents, the great man of the prophecy had not yet appeared.
"O, mother, dear mother!" cried Ernest, clapping his hands abovehis head, I do hope that I shall live to see him!"His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and feltthat it was wisest not to discourage the generous hopes of herlittle boy. So she only said to him, "Perhaps you may."And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. Itwas always in his mind, whenever he looked upon the Great StoneFace. He spent his childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, andwas dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things,assisting her much with his little hands, and more with his lovingheart. In this manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grewup to be a mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with labor inthe fields, but with more intelligence brightening his aspect thanis seen in many lads who have been taught at famous schools. YetErnest had had no teacher, save only that the Great Stone Facebecame one to him. When the toil of the day was over, he would gaze atit for hours, until he began to imagine that those vast featuresrecognized him, and gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement,responsive to his own look of veneration. We must not take upon usto affirm that this was a mistake, although the Face may have lookedno more kindly at Ernest than at all the world besides. But the secretwas, that the boy's tender and confiding simplicity discerned whatother people could not see; and thus the love, which was meant forall, became his peculiar portion.
About this time, there went a rumor throughout the valley, that thegreat man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear aresemblance to the Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seemsthat, many years before, a young man had migrated from the valleyand settled at a distant seaport, where, after getting together alittle money, he had set up as a shopkeeper. His name- but I couldnever learn whether it was his real one, or a nickname that hadgrown out of his habits and success in life- was Gathergold. Beingshrewd and active, and endowed by Providence with that inscrutablefaculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, hebecame an exceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a whole fleet ofbulky-bottomed ships. All the countries of the globe appeared tojoin hands for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to themountainous accumulation of this one man's wealth. The cold regions ofthe north, almost within the gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle,sent him their tribute in the shape of furs; hot Africa sifted for himthe golden sands of her rivers, and gathered up the ivory tusks of hergreat elephants out of the forests; the East came bringing him therich shawls, and spices, and teas, and the effulgence of diamonds, andthe gleaming purity of large pearls. The ocean, not to be behindhandwith the earth, yielded up her mighty whales, that Mr. Gathergoldmight sell their oil, and make a profit on it. Be the originalcommodity what it might, it was gold within his grasp. It might besaid of him, as of Midas in the fable, that whatever he touched withhis finger immediately glistened, and grew yellow, and was changedat once into sterling metal, or, which suited him still better, intopiles of coin. And, when Mr. Gathergold had become so very rich thatit would have taken him a hundred years only to count his wealth, hebethought himself of his native valley, and resolved to go backthither, and end his days where he was born. With this purpose inview, he sent a skilful architect to build him such a palace as shouldbe fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in.
