but was grievously disappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the same substance as before.  Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had only dreamed about the lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had been making game of him.  And what a miserable affair would it be if, after all his hopes, Midas must content himself with what little gold he could scrape together by ordinary means instead of creating it by a touch.

All this while it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak of brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it.  He lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder until the earliest sunbeam shone through the window and gilded the ceiling over his head.  It seemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular way on the white covering of the bed.  Looking more closely, what was his astonishment and delight when he found that this linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold!  The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!

Midas started up in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room grasping at everything that happened to be in his way.  He seized one of the bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar.  He pulled aside a window-curtain in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing, and the tassel grew heavy in his hand—­ a mass of gold.  He took up a book from the table.  At his first touch it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and gilt-edged volume as one often meets with nowadays, but on running his fingers through the leaves, behold! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible.  He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness, although it burdened him a little with its weight.  He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him.  That was likewise gold, with the dear child’s neat and pretty stitches running all along the border in gold thread!

Somehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King Midas.  He would rather that his little daughter’s handiwork should have remained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his hand.

But it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle.  Midas now took his spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose in order that he might see more distinctly what he was about.  In those days spectacles for common people had not been invented, but were already worn by kings, else how could Midas have had any?  To his great perplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, he discovered that he could not possibly see through them.  But this was the most natural thing in the world, for on taking them off the transparent crystals turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and of course were worthless as spectacles, though valuable as gold.  It struck Midas as rather inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.