Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure room, one day, as usual, when he perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking suddenly up, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, standing in the bright and narrow sunbeam!  It was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy face.  Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help fancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind of golden radiance in it.  Certainly, although his figure intercepted the sunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures than before.  Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles of fire.

As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and that no mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure room, he, of course, concluded that his visitor must be something more than mortal.  It is no matter about telling you who he was.  In those days, when the earth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the resort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to interest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children, half playfully and half seriously.  Midas had met such beings before now, and was not sorry to meet one of them again.  The stranger’s aspect, indeed, was so good humoured and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief.  It was far more probable that he came to do Midas a favour.  And what could that favour be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?

The stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous smile had glistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again to Midas.

“You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!” he observed.  “I doubt whether any other four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived to pile up in this room.”

“I have done pretty well—­pretty well,” answered Midas, in a discontented tone.  “But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you consider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together.  If one could live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!”

“What!” exclaimed the stranger.  “Then you are not satisfied?”

Midas shook his head.

“And pray what would satisfy you?” asked the stranger.  “Merely for the curiosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.”

Midas paused and meditated.  He felt a presentiment that this stranger, with such a golden lustre in his good-humoured smile, had come hither with both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes.  Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and obtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come into his head to ask.  So he thought, and thought, and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without being able to imagine them big enough.  At last, a bright idea occurred to King Midas.  It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which he loved so much.