es, looked exactly like
him. The jester had been the first to perceive this strange circumstance.
Every one, even Moor, agreed with him, and so it happened that Pellicanus
henceforth called his young friend the Navarrete. The name pleased the
boy. Everything here pleased him, and he was full of happiness; only
often at night he could not help grieving because, while his father was
dead, he enjoyed such an overflowing abundance of good things, and
because he had lost his mother, Ruth, and all who had loved him.

CHAPTER XIII.

Ulrich was obliged to share the jester's sleeping-room, and as Pellicanus
shrank from getting out of bed, while suffering from night-sweats, and
often needed something, he roused Ulrich from his sleep, and the latter
was always ready to assist him. This happened more frequently as they
continued their journey, and the poor little man's illness increased.

The count had furnished Ulrich with a spirited young horse, that
shortened the road for him by its tricks and capers. But the jester, who
became more and more attached to the boy, also did his utmost to keep the
feeling of happiness alive in his heart. On warm days he nestled in the
rack before the tilt with the driver, and when Ulrich rode beside him,
opened his eyes to everything that passed before him.

The jester had a great deal to tell about the country and people, and he
embellished the smallest trifle with tales invented by himself, or
devised by others.

While passing a grove of birches, he asked the lad if he knew why the
trunks of these trees were white, and then explained the cause, as
follows:

"When Orpheus played so exquisitely on his lute, all the trees rushed
forward to dance. The birches wanted to come too, but being vain, stopped
to put on white dresses, to outdo the others. When they finally appeared
on the dancing-ground, the singer had already gone--and now, summer and
winter, year in and year out, they keep their white dresses on, to be
prepared, when Orpheus returns and the lute sounds again."

A cross-bill was perched on a bough in a pine-wood, and the jester said
that this bird was a very peculiar species. It had originally been grey,
and its bill was as straight as a sparrow's, but when the Saviour hung
upon the cross, it pitied him, and with its little bill strove to draw
the nails from the wounded hands. In memory of this friendly act, the
Lord had marked its beak with the cross, and painted a dark-red spo