changed into gold."

The figure of the stranger then grew brighter and brighter, so that
Midas had to close his eyes, and when he opened them again he saw
only a yellow sunbeam in the room, and all around him glittered the
precious gold which he had spent his life in gathering.

How Midas longed for the next day to come! He scarcely slept that
night, and as soon as it was light he laid his hand on the chair
beside his bed; then he nearly cried when he saw that nothing
happened: the chair remained just as it was. "Could the stranger have
made a mistake," he wondered, "or had it been a dream?"

He lay still, getting angrier and angrier each minute until at
last the sun rose, and the first rays shone through his window and
brightened the room. It seemed to Midas that the bright yellow sunbeam
was reflected very curiously from the covering of his bed, and he sat
up and looked more closely.

What was his delight when he saw that the bedcover on which his hands
rested had become a woven cloth of the purest and brightest gold!
He started up and caught hold of the bed-post--instantly it became a
golden pillar. He pulled aside the window-curtain and the tassel grew
heavy in his hand--it was a mass of gold! He took up a book from
the table, and at his first touch it became a bundle of thin golden
leaves, in which no reading could be seen.

Midas was delighted with his good fortune. He took his spectacles from
his pocket and put them on, so that he might see more distinctly what
he was about. But to his surprise he could not possibly see through