to be a considerable inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a
hot potato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in
a hurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his
mouth full, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt
his tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began
to dance and stamp about the room, both with pain and affright.

"Father, dear father!" cried little Marygold, who was a very
affectionate child, "pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your
mouth?"

"Ah, dear child," groaned Midas, dolefully, "I don't know what is to
become of your poor father!"

And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable
case in all your lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that
could be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely
good for nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crust of
bread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose
delicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be
done? Already, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be
less so by dinner time? And how ravenous would be his appetite for
supper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of
indigestible dishes as those now before him! How many days, think you,
would he survive a continuance of this rich fare?

These reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt
whether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world,
or even the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So
fascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he
would still have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a
consideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's
victuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions
of money (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon
up) for some fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of
coffee!

"It would be quite too dear," thought Midas.

Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his
situation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our
pretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing
at her father, and trying, with all the might of her little wits, to
find out what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and
sorrowful impulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, and,
runn