he pretty sick boy in there."

CHAPTER XII.

After dinner the artist went with his old servant, who had attended to
the horses and then enjoyed a delicious Christmas roast, to Count von
Hochburg, to obtain an escort for the next day.

Pellicanus had undertaken to watch Ulrich, who was still sleeping
quietly.

The jester would gladly have gone to bed himself, for he felt cold and
tired, but, though the room could not be heated, he remained faithfully
at his post for hours. With benumbed hands and feet, he watched by the
light of the night-lamp every breath the boy drew, often gazing at him as
anxiously and sympathizingly, as if he were his own child.

When Ulrich at last awoke, he timidly asked when he was, and when the
jester had soothed him, begged for a bit of bread, he was so hungry.

How famished he felt, the contents of the dish that were speedily placed
before him, soon discovered Pellicanus wanted to feed him like a baby,
but the boy took the spoon out of his hand, and the former smilingly
watched the sturdy eater, without disturbing, him, until he was perfectly
satisfied; then he began to perplex the lad with questions, that seemed
to him neither very intelligible, nor calculated to inspire confidence.

"Well, my little bird!" the jester began, joyously anticipating a
confirmation of the clever inferences he had drawn, "I suppose it was a
long flight to the churchyard, where we found you. On the grave is a
better place than in it, and a bed at Emmendingen, with plenty of grits
and veal, is preferable to being in the snow on the highway, with a
grumbling stomach Speak freely, my lad! Where does your nest of robbers
hang?"

"Nest of robbers?" repeated Ulrich in amazement.

"Well, castle or the like, for aught I care," continued Pellicanus
inquiringly. "Everybody is at home somewhere, except Mr. Nobody; but as
you are somebody, Nobody cannot possibly be your father. Tell me about
the old fellow!"

"My father is dead," replied the boy, and as the events of the preceding
day rushed back upon his memory, he drew the coverlet over his face and
wept.

"Poor fellow!" murmured the jester, hastily drawing his sleeve across his
eyes, and leaving the lad in peace, till he showed his face again. Then
he continued: "But I suppose you have a mother at home?"

Ulrich shook his head mournfully, and Pellicanus, to conceal his own
emotion, looked at him with a comical grimace, and then said very kindly,
though