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, running to Midas, threw her arms affectionately
about his knees. He bent down and kissed her. He felt that his
little daughter's love was worth a thousand times more than he
had gained by the Golden Touch.
"My precious, precious Marygold!" cried he.
But Marygold made no answer.
VIII.
Alas, what had King Midas done? How fatal was the gift which the
stranger had bestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched
Marygold's forehead, a change had taken place. Her sweet, rosy
face, so full of affection as it had been, assumed a glittering
yellow color, with yellow tear-drops congealing on her cheeks.
Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint. Her soft and
tender little form grew hard and inflexible within her father's
encircling arms. O terrible misfortune! The victim of his
insatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child
no longer, but a golden statue!
Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and
pity, hardened into her face.
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