“My son,” he said, “what aileth thee? Nay”—as the youth looked up in astonishment—“nay, answer me not, for I know what thou wouldst have. Yet must thou not forsake thy lowly occupation; that which thou dost seek will only come to thee whilst thou art engaged thereon. Follow me, and I will show thee the spot where thy destiny will meet thee.”
The young man, not yet recovered from his surprise, followed his aged guide to a distant part of the forest. Then the hermit bade him farewell and left him to ponder on the cryptic saying: “Here thy destiny will meet thee.”
“Time will show the old man’s meaning, I suppose,” he said to himself; “in any case, I may as well burn charcoal here as elsewhere.”
He set to work, hewed down some great trees, and built a kiln, which, before lighting, he covered with stony earth. What was his amazement when, on removing the cover of the kiln in due course, he discovered within some pieces of pure gold! A moment’s reflection convinced him that the precious metal must have been melted out of the stones, so he again built a kiln, and experienced the same gratifying result. Delighted with his good fortune, he concealed his treasure in an appropriate hiding-place and proceeded to repeat the process till he had obtained and hidden a large fortune, of whose existence none but himself was aware.
One night, as he lay awake listening to the wind in the trees—for his great wealth had this drawback, that it robbed him of his sleep—he fancied he heard a knock at the door. At first he thought he must have been mistaken, but as he hesitated whether to rise or not the knock was repeated. Boldly he undid the door—a feat requiring no small courage in that remote part of the forest, where robbers and freebooters abounded—and there, without, stood a poor wayfarer, who humbly begged admittance. He was being pursued, he declared; would the charcoal-burner shelter him for a few days? Touched by the suppliant’s plight, and moved by feelings worthy of his chivalrous ideals, the youth readily extended the hospitality of his poor home, and for some time the stranger sojourned there in peace. He did not offer to reveal his identity, nor was he questioned on that point. But one morning he declared his intention of taking his departure.
“My friend,” he said warmly, “I know not how I may thank you for your brave loyalty. The time has come when you must know whom you have served so faithfully. Behold your unfortunate Emperor, overcome in battle, deprived of friends and followers and fortune!”
At these astounding words the young charcoal-burner sank on his knees before the Emperor.
“Sire,” he said, “you have yet one humble subject who will never forsake you while life remains to him.”
“I know,” replied the Emperor gently, raising him to his feet, “and therefore I ask of you one last service. It is that you may lead me by some secret path to the place where the remnant of my followers await me. Alas, that I, once so powerful, should be unable to offer you any token of a sovereign’s gratitude!”
“Sire,” ventured the youth, “methinks I may be privileged to render yet one more service to your Majesty.” Straightway he told the story of his hidden treasure and with simple dignity placed it at the disposal of his sovereign, asking for nothing in return but the right to spend his strength in the Emperor’s service—a right which was readily accorded him.