"Here he comes!" cried the people. "Here comes the great Mr.
Gathergold!"
As the carriage drew near the people pressed around, and there through
the window they saw the great man. He was little and old, with a face as
hard and yellow as the piles of gold he had gathered together. He had a
low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about with many wrinkles, and
very sharp lips.
"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.
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