The King had been cursed by the offended god Apollo
with asses' ears. To hide his deformity he had his barber dress the hair
over the ears, and the barber was then sworn with an awful oath of
secrecy. But the "tonsorial artist" (as they call him in the city!) was
one of those people who could not stand the pressure. He went out in the
field and dug a little hole, and
INTO THIS HOLE HE BREATHED THE SECRET
that His Majesty had been smitten by Apollo. What was the astonishment
of the world at hearing the reeds that grew hard by whispering among
themselves, whenever the wind blew them confidentially together, "King
Midas hath asses' ears!"
Be in mortal fear of the first error in this regard. When a boy has made
a record for bad, it seems to hang to him. The fact that he has told
something which he ought to have kept to himself is quoted against him
until it becomes a positive habit to speak about it every time his name
is mentioned.
"Jimmie, where's your outside man? I heard he was in town. His cousin
asked me to inquire."
"Oh! no! he's not in town. He went out on the road last night.
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