The Adventures of King Midas. Lynne Banks Reid

      King Midas was nothing special, as kings go. He hadn’t got a particularly large kingdom, just a small one, and it wasn’t either rich or poor. Just ordinary, really. Like the King himself, until a certain day in his life, on which everything changed.

      But until that day, things jogged along for him quite normally. Of course, you might not think it normal to live in a small but charming palace surrounded by beautiful grounds, to have to sign papers all the time, wear a heavy crown quite often, and to have dozens of servants running around to do your bidding. But that’s normal for a king, and King Midas was quite used to it and thought nothing of it.

      He hadn’t got a queen.

      He’d had one, once, but sadly, she’d died. The King was terribly grieved. She had been so beautiful – a shining golden beauty that made the sun and the stars come out for him. He kept a lock of her hair, the colour of summer pollen, in a locket round his neck, and would take it out and smooth it in his fingers to keep it shiny and alive-looking.

      But he had something better than that left from his happy younger days: a little daughter called Delia.

      She looked rather like her mother – the same bright brown eyes and sun-spun golden hair, and lively, loving ways. King Midas simply adored her, and made a great fuss of her, giving her most of what she asked for and thinking of all kinds of lovely surprises for her.

      But oddly enough, she wasn’t spoilt. She went to school in the village near the palace, like other children, and was quite ordinary, too, in a way. Of course, a princess can never be entirely ordinary, but there was one nice thing about her – she never boasted or gave herself airs. She was a very nice girl, really, which made what happened to her all the worse. She simply didn’t deserve it.

      As to whether the King deserved to be the cause of this awful thing that happened to his beloved child, that’s another matter. There’s no denying that he had a fault. Who hasn’t? But this one was bad enough to lead him into the most dire trouble.

      He allowed to grow in him a great desire, which came to rule his whole life.

      He thought nobody knew about it. But little things gave him away to those quick-witted enough to understand.

      For instance, one day some large oil paintings that he’d ordered from abroad arrived in big flat packing-cases. He was very excited and as soon as they were unpacked, he called Delia.

      “You must see my new paintings, my darling,” he cried cheerfully. “You’ve got such an eye, I can’t wait to hear what you think of them!”

      Delia had no more “eye” than most people, but she did like paintings. She loved making up stories about them. So she hurried after her father to one of the long galleries in the palace.

      “I must supervise the hanging,” said the King importantly.

      “Daddy, you know you’ve done away with capital punishment!” teased Delia.

      The King laughed uproariously. He was in a very good mood.

      There were already several servants up ladders, and several more below, with the first great canvas in their hands, ready to hand it up to those above. The King, who had arrived beaming with pleasure, took one look at the picture and flew into one of his rare, but alarming, rages.

      “Take them away!” he roared. “I won’t have them! I don’t want them – not like that!”

      One of his personal servants called Biffpot, the only one who dared speak to him when he was angry, murmured, “But Sire, the paintings are very fine!”

      “The paintings? The PAINTINGS? Who’s talking about the paintings? It’s the FRAMES I can’t abide! GET THOSE FRAMES OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

      “But Daddy, what’s wrong with the frames?” Delia exclaimed anxiously. “They’re beautiful, all carved and gilded –”

      “Gilded!

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