THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 17

home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water,
which was to undo all the mischief that his folly had
wrought, was more precious to Midas than an ocean of
molten gold could have been. The first thing he did, as
you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls
over the golden figure of little Marygold.

- No sooner did it fall on her than you would have
laughed to see how the rosy color came back to the dear
child’s cheek !—and how she began to sneeze and sput-
ter !— and how astonished she was to find herself drip-
ping wet, and her father still throwing more water over
her!

“Pray do not, dear father!” cried she. “See how
you have wet my nice frock, which I put on only this
morning ! ”’

For Marygold did not know that she had been a little
golden statue; nor could she remember anything that
had happened since the moment when she ran with out-
stretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.

Her father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved
child how very foolish he had been, but contented himself
with showing how much wiser he had now grown. For
this purpose, he led little Marygold into the garden,
where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over
the rose-bushes, and with such good effect that above
five thousand roses recovered their beautiful bloom.
There were two circumstances, however, which, as long
as he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Gold-
en Touch. One was, that the sands of the river sparkled
like gold; the other, that little Marygold’s hair had now