THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 67

Little Marygold had not yet made her appearance.
Her father ordered her to be called, and, seating himself
at table, awaited the child’s coming, in order to begin his
own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really loved his
daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning,
on account of the good fortune which had befallen him.
It was not a great while before he heard her coming
along the passageway crying bitterly. This circum-
stance surprised him, because’ Marygold was one of the
cheerfullest little people whom you would see in a sum-
mer’s day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a
twelvemonth. When Midas heard her sobs, he deter-
mined to put little Marygold into better spirits, by an
agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he
touched his daughter’s bowl (which was a China one,
with pretty figures all around it), and transmuted it to
gleaming gold,

Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened
the door, and showed herself with her apron at her eyes,
still sobbing as if her heart would break.

“How now, my little lady!” cried Midas. “ Pray
what is the matter with you, this bright morning ? ”

_ Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes,
held out. her hand, in which was one of the roses which
Midas had so recently transmuted.

‘ Beautiful !”’ exclaimed her father. ‘And what is
there in this magnificent golden rose to make you ery ?”

‘Ah, dear father! ” answered the child, as well as her
sobs would let her; “it is not beautiful, but the ugliest
flower that ever grew! As soon as I was dressed, I ran