He retired early to the nice apartment assigned him, and lay awake a long time, musing on the past and the present. "Ah, I see," he said to himself, "why I am an object of wonder and something of awe to the people of the valley. I have lived apart from human ties, while they have grown old and ripe together. I must be a riddle to them all--a something which they have invested with an air of veneration, because I was not daily in their midst. Had it been otherwise, I should have been neither new nor fresh to them. How know I but this is God's reserve force wherewith each may become refreshed, and myself an humble instrument sent in the right moment to vivify those who have been thinking alike too much?" He fell asleep, and awoke just as the sun was throwing its bright rays over his bed. "Dear old day-god," he said, with reverence, and arose and dressed himself, still eying the sun's early rays. "One of thy golden messengers must content me now," he said, a little sadly. "I can no longer see thee in all thy majesty marching up the mountain side; no longer can I follow thee walking over the hill-tops, and resting thy head against the crimson sky at evening: but smile on me, Sun, while in the vale I tarry, and warm my seeds to life while on thy daily march." The old man went from his room refreshed by sleep, and partook of the bread and honey which the kind woman had ready for him. Then, thanking them for their hospitality, he departed. The laborer and wife watched him out of sight, and thought they had never seen anything more beautiful than his white hair waving in the morning breeze. At dusk a light shone in the vacant cottage, and they sent him fresh cakes, milk, and honey for his evening meal. * * * * * Ten years passed away. The old man had cultured his land, and no fairer flowers or sweeter fruits grew in the valley than his own. He had taught the people many truths which he had learned in his solitary life on the mountain, and in return had learned much from them. He faded slowly away. The brilliant flowers within his garden grew suddenly distasteful to him. He longed to look once more on a pure white blossom which grew only at the mountain top. With its whiteness no flower could compare. There were others, growing half way up, that approached its purity, but none equaled the flower on the summit. "I should like, of all things," answered the old man, when they desired to know what would most please him,--for he had become a great favorite in the valley,--"to look once more upon my pure white flower ere I die; but it's so far to the mountain top, none will care to climb." "Thou _shalt_ see it!" exclaimed a strong youth, who was courageous,