Marygold got down from her chair and ran to him. By this time Midas hated the very sight of gold. He felt that Marygold was all he had to love now. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
Oh, unhappy Midas! Marygold, too, had become hard, shining gold. There were the tears still on her cheeks; they were little lumps of gold now. Everything was the same, even the pretty dimple in her chin.
Poor Midas! His heart was almost broken. He threw himself upon the floor and tried to pray. The words would not come.
All at once the room grew very bright. Midas raised his head. There stood the stranger who had given him the Golden Touch. His face was sad, yet Midas thought he saw a smile there, too, as he said:
“Well, friend Midas, how do you like the Golden Touch?”
“Hush!” cried the king. “I hate the very name of gold!”
“Why, how is this?” asked the stranger. “Have you not enough yet?”
“Enough!” cried the king. “Too much! I wish I might never see gold again. Gold is not everything. See,” said he, pointing to Marygold. “I would give all the gold in the world, just to see her smile again.”
“You are sure you have had enough of the Golden Touch?” asked the stranger.
Midas’ look showed that he thought the question a very foolish one.