ll to the floor; for it, too,
had become gold. Midas shuddered.

"Go, then," said the stranger, "and plunge into the river that glides past
the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water, and
sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again from
gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and
sincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has
occasioned."

King Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger
had vanished.

You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great
earthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched
it), and hastening to the riverside. As he scampered along, and forced his
way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvelous to see how the
foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and
nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in,
without waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.

"Poof! poof! poof!" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the
water. "Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have
quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!"

As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to
see it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which it
had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change within
himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out of his
bosom. No doubt his heart had been gradually losing its human substance,
and transmuting itself into insensible metal, but had now softened back
again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of the river,
Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed to find that the
delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow
blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had therefore really been removed
from him.

King Midas hastened back to the palace; and I suppose the servants knew
not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so carefully
bringing 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