When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Marygold
into better spirits by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across
the table, he touched his danghter's bowl (which was a china one,
with pretty figures all around it), and changed it into gleaming
gold.
Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and sadly opened the door, and showed
herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart
would break.
"How now, my little lady!" cried Midas. "Pray, what is the matter
with you, this bright morning?"
Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her
hand, in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently
changed into gold.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed her father. "And what is there in this
magnificent golden rose to make you cry?"
"Ah, dear father!" answered the child, between her sobs, "it is
not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as
I was dressed, I ran into the garden to gather some roses for
you; because I know you like them, and like them the better when
gathered by your little daughter.
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