If he loved anything better, or half so
well, it was the one little maiden who played so merrily around
her father's footstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter,
the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolish
man! that the best thing he could possibly do for this dear child
would be to bequeath her the largest pile of glistening coin that
had ever been heaped together since the world was made.
Thus he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one
purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the
gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold,
and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. When
little Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups and
dandelions, he used to say, "Pooh, pooh, child! If these flowers
were as golden as they look, they would be worth the plucking!"
At length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless
they take care to grow wiser and wiser) Midas had got to be so
exceedingly unreasonable, that he could scarcely bear to see or
touch any object that was not gold.
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