11+ CEM English & VR Set-8

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

This story is thousands of years old. It tells of a time when, according to legend, gods and goddesses walked the Earth, and the strangest enchantments were everyday events. In those days, the land contained many small kingdoms, each with its own king. One such king was Midas.

On a particular summer's day, King Midas was ' '' present at a music competition. The contest was to be judged by Tmolus, a river god, and there were two contestants: a young man named Marsyas, and a very powerful god named Apollo. Marsyas was first to play. Now, although Marsyas was an ordinary young man, he possessed an extraordinary, magical flute. The music it made was so sweet that all who heard it were instantly bewitched. He raised the flute to his lips, and as the first notes fell on the summer air, the birds paused in their singing, the leaves were still, and wild creatures crowded around, spellbound.

When the flute fell finally silent King Midas let out a long, wistful sigh. 'Perfect!' he breathed.

Tmolus said nothing. He was too wise to rush to judgement, particularly when the second contestant was a powerful god, who was known for his quick temper. He turned and looked expectantly at Apollo.

Apollo's chosen instrument was the lute* (* a stringed instrument something like a guitar). He began to play, and his touch was so delicate that the clouds themselves were drawn down from the sky.

When the piece was finished, Tmolus pondered deeply. There was little to choose between the two competitors. Marsyas' playing had touched more hearts; it was true, but that was not the point. Had Marsyas played ten times better than his rival; he could not be judged the winner. For Apollo would be angry if he did not win, and Apollo's wrath meant danger.

At last, Tmolus delivered his verdict: 'I declare Apollo the winner!'  Without thinking King Midas cried: 'That's ridiculous! Marsyas played better, everyone could hear that! Anyone who thinks otherwise must have asses' ears!'

Apollo glared at the king. 'Indeed,' was all he said.

The next morning King Midas was awoken by a strange itching in the region of his scalp. Scratching his head, he rose to look in the mirror.

What he saw made his eyes grow wide in horror.  His ears were long and pointed, and covered in coarse, grey hair. There could be no doubt about it.  They were asses' ears and they looked, above all, absurd. What could the king do?

'Everyone will laugh at me,' he almost wept, as he paced the room in despair, 'and that must never be. A king who is ridiculous cannot command respect, and then - who knows.' - the people may rise up and rebel! My ears must remain a secret.'

At last, he came up with a plan. 'I know,' he said to himself, 'I'll find a cap large enough to conceal the ears, and that cap will stay firmly on my head from dawn till dusk.'

The plan worked well. The king's subjects were duly impressed and caps became instantly fashionable.

The only person who knew the secret was the royal barber. For hair does not stop growing just because you wear a hat, and every now and then King Midas' hair also needed cutting.

The barber worked in complete privacy. Not even the palace guards were permitted to enter the room where he would gently remove the cap and get to work on the king's misshapen head.

'You must promise,' the king insisted, 'on pain of death, to tell no-one what you have seen.'

'I promise,' said the barber, his hand held discreetly over his mouth in case the king should see the corners begin to twitch.

As the months passed, it seemed to the barber that the ears looked more and more absurd. Even thinking about them made him laugh. But when people asked him what the joke was, he hastily wiped the smile from his face. 'Oh, nothing!' he said. 'Nothing.'

Eventually, however, it became too much to bear. The poor barber was at his wits' end. Sooner or later, he feared he might blurt out, 'You'll never believe it! King Midas has asses' ears!'

He must tell someone - or something. So, one winter's night, he crept out of the city, carrying a spade, and walked until he came to a lonely marsh. There, among the dry, wintry stems of the reeds, he dug a hole and into it whispered his secret: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

He had told his secret to the Earth itself, for the Earth is always silent.

Yet the barber had reckoned without the other living things around him. While the earth lay silent, the reeds, though dry, were still full of life. In spring, they put up fresh, green shoots. In summer, their soft heads nodded in the breeze, growing  the cool autumn wind rustled through them, they  made a gentle hissing sound, for all the world like a crowd whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

The country people who lived near the marsh heard the rumour, and soon they, too, were whispering among themselves: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

Up and down the kingdom, the words were soon on everyone's lips, and when people caught sight of the king, they smiled to themselves or even laughed aloud.

Some say King Midas realised his secret was out, and had the barber thrown into jail - or even put to death. Others tell it differently. The barber remained at his post, they say, the king wore his cap, and the people continued to smile.

However that may be, one thing is still true. If you pass by a marsh on an autumn night, and the wind sighs through the reeds, you, too, may hear them whispering: 'King Midas has asses' ears!'

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

In this passage there are some spelling mistakes. On each numbered line there is either one mistake or no mistake. Choose the right option that has the mistake. If there is no mistake, choose N.

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on.

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication.

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning.

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that

Fill in the missing letters to complete the words in the following passage. (Write the word in full in the given space.)

Verbal communication is accompanied by non-verbal body (39) l - - gu - - e that also conveys meaning and (40) em - t - on. Body language includes (41) f - - - al expression, posture, position of the arms and many other cues that help in understanding the (42)m - - n - -g of verbal communication. In the (43) – bs - - c e of verbal communication body language can be sufficient to convey meaning. Sometimes merely a stern look from Mom or Dad or a (44) t - - c h - r lets you know that you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

you are not behaving properly; no words are (45) ne - - ss - ry!

Rearrange the words in the right order to form meaningful sentences. Write the sentence below with the correct punctuation marks.

Rearrange the words in the right order to form meaningful sentences. Write the sentence below with the correct punctuation marks.

Rearrange the words in the right order to form meaningful sentences. Write the sentence below with the correct punctuation marks.

Rearrange the words in the right order to form meaningful sentences. Write the sentence below with the correct punctuation marks.

Rearrange the words in the right order to form meaningful sentences. Write the sentence below with the correct punctuation marks.