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 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 Pellicanus still believed him to be the son of a knight, and this at last became unendurable to the lad.

One evening, when they were both in bed, he summoned up his courage and told him everything he knew about his past life.