"I will be glad," he said, "because the morning sun shines warm across my face." He slipped a golden beam upon his memory string.
"I will be glad because that there are diamond sparkles on the grass and larks are singing in the sky." A dew-drop and a bird's trill for his rosary.
"I will be glad for bread, for water from the spring, for eyesight and the power to smell the budding lilacs by the door; for friendly greetings from the villagers." A goodly rosary, symbol of all the things for which he should be glad, was in his hand at close of day.

He swung it gaily by the hearth that night, recounting all his blessings till the Jester thought, "At last he's found the cure." But suddenly Aldebaran flung the rosary from him and hid his face within his hands.

"'Twill drive me mad!" he cried.

"To go on stringing baubles that do but set my mind the firmer on the priceless jewel I have lost.
May heaven forgive me! I am not really glad.

'Tis all a hollow mockery and pretence!" Then was the Jester at his wit's end for reply.