Then he dipped the pitcher into the water, and how glad he was to see
that it became just a common earthen pitcher and not a golden one as
it had been five minutes before! He was conscious, also of a change in
himself: a cold, heavy weight seemed to have gone, and he felt light,
and happy, and human once more. Maybe his heart had been changing into
gold too, though he could not see it, and now it had softened again
and become gentle and kind.

Midas hurried back to the palace with the pitcher of water, and the
first thing he did was to sprinkle it by handfuls all over the golden
figure of his little daughter. You would have laughed to see how the
rosy color came back to her cheeks, and how she began to sneeze and
choke, and how surprised she was to find herself dripping wet and her
father still throwing water over her.

You see she did not know that she had been a little golden statue, for
she could not remember anything from the moment when she ran to kiss
her father.

King Midas then led his daughter into the garden, where he sprinkled
all the rest of the water over the rose-bushes, and the grass, and the
trees; and in a minute they were blooming as freshly as ever, and the
air was laden with the scent of the flowers.

There were two things left, which, as long as he lived, used to remind
King Midas of the stranger's fatal gift. One was that the sands at
the bottom of the river always sparkled like grains of gold: and the
other, that his little daughter's curls were no longer brown. They had
a golden tinge which had not been there before that miserable day when