would have laughed to see how the
rosy color came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began to
sneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping
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 outstretched 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 Golden Touch. One was,
that the sands of the river sparkled like gold; the other, that little
Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had never observed in it
before she had been transmuted by the effect of his kiss. This change of
hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's hair richer than in her
babyhood.

When King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold's
children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvelous story,
pretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their
glossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade
of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.

"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks," quoth King Midas,
diligently trotting the children all the while, "ever since that morning,
I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!"

THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom
let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story
begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the
wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short, of the
crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far
been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more
speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of p