The Legend of the Stone Bench

The old man remembered the first time he had lifted it. He was barely seventeen and he came secretly after nightfall and tostled with it. Until every muscle in his body ate but he had lifting it just an inch no more. Then he recalled the great triumph of his life, so that he could not see the stone at which he peered. But he saw it in his mind vividly in the grey dawn, slippery with dew. The shout that was raised that day before sunrise by the people of his village now rang as loudly in his ears as if it still floored in the air. Mumbling, he left the beach and thrown away his stick. He went stoop