I was born in the valley more than fifty years ago. I left the place at the age of fourteen. I spent many years of my life in distant cities. I developed interest in writing poems which contained gems of wisdom and lofty ideals, of grand dreams and flights of imagination. My poems became popular and I became a renowned person.
While I was nearing sixty, I heard of Ernest. I was impressed by his character and humanitarian zeal. One summer day I reached my native valley and met the good old man. He sat reading a book and looking lovingly at the mountain from time to time.
I asked the man if he would let me stay at his cottage for a night. “Gladly” answered Ernest with a smile. I sat down beside him and talked till late in the night. I felt I had never met a man like Ernest before, so wise, gentle and kind. Ernest enquired of me who I was.
I told him that I was there in the book of poems he was reading. Ernest declared that I was perhaps the man with the likeness of Stone Face. He praised me for my thoughts in the book. But I admitted my drawbacks frankly. I said that I had failed to live according to my own thoughts, and my dreams were just dreams. I called him the pure seeker of the good and true.