s 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 spot
on its breast, where the bird hall been sprinkled with His Son's blood.
Other rewards were bestowed upon it, for no other bird could hatch a
brood of young ones in winter, and it also had the power of lessening
the fever of those, who cherished it.

A flock of wild geese flew over the road and the hills, and Pellicanus
cried: "Look there! They always fly in two straight lines, and form a
letter of the alphabet. This time it is an A. Can you see it? When the
Lord was writing the laws on the tablets, a flock of wild geese flew
across Mt. Sinai, and in doing so, one effaced a letter with its wing.
Since that time, they always fly in the shape of a letter, and their
whole race, that is, all geese, are compelled to let those people who
wish to write, pluck the feathers from their wings."

Pellicanus was fond of talking to the boy in their bedroom. He always
called him Navarrete, and the artist, when in a cheerful mood, followed
his example.

Ulrich felt great reverence for Moor; the jester, on the contrary, was
only a good comrade, in whom he speedily reposed entire confidence.

Many an allusion and jesting word showed that