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His bird was much in Andrea's thoughts as he paced back and forth each night upon his beat and, gazing into the sky in his lookout for aeroplanes, he would strain his eyes for a speck that might resolve itself into Chico's wings. Possibly, he reasoned, the bird had not yet been made use of.
As it was, he sank into his seat in the little train muttering all sorts of imprecations upon the whole Italian people, and thanking his stars he would soon be out of the country. While all this had been going on, great had been the consternation in St. Mark's Square over Chico's strange disappearance.
"As if I should not hear the slightest flutter of my Chico's wings!" he protested. But, to make sure, he even slept in the little room back of the church and arranged that hither should his meals be brought. Poor lad! He, too, showed the strain of the Great War, and looked tense and worn.
Here he stopped, and, with careful deliberation, lifted the cover of the basket, saying as he laid his hand affectionately on Chico's glossy head, "Now fly, my bird, straight to your house!" Without a moment's delay Chico was out of his prison and with a quick, spiral curve had soared into the blue Venetian sky.
Jock brightened; Armine found an envelope in his pocket, and scribbled "On the moraine. Jock's ankle sprained -Come." Then Jock produced a bit of string, wherewith it was fastened to the dog's collar, and then authoritatively bade Chico go to mother. Alas! cleverness had never been Chico's strong point, and the present extremity did not inspire him with sagacity.
Poor Chiquito! thou lovest me? thou art glad that I brought thee away from that place of tyranny and bloodshed? speak to thy mistress, Chico!" But Chico's spirits had been ruffled, as well as Manuela's, by being carried about in his cage, at unseemly hours, when he should have been hanging quietly in the verandah, where he belonged. He looked sulky, and only said, "Caramba! no mi gusta!"
Come, Don Valerian! we shall have our smoke yet before going to bed." "It's not Manuel," answers Miranda. "The dogs would have known him before this. Hear how they keep on baying! Ha! what's that? Chico's voice! Somebody has caught hold of him!"
"It's old Paolo who must guard Chico" and he shook his head "I fear it will be a hard thing to do." At a safe distance the stranger followed until St. Mark's Square was reached. There he concealed himself behind a column and watched to see the location of Chico's nest. It was so late that the children had gone home, but Andrea had left a folded paper, weighted by a stone, on the window ledge.
Sometimes he would playfully ruffle her feathers, and she would respond by turning to him so coquettishly that they would touch their bills together, so the hours would as they billed and cooed in their love-making. It was Maria who named the dainty little mate, calling her Pepita, from the first time she saw her by Chico's side.
"Please, signore," Andrea faltered, as he took from his coat the precious bird, "please, I have a homing pigeon " At once the officer became alert. "A homing pigeon?" he repeated quickly. "Is he trained to carry messages?" "Si, signore." And the boy forgot his embarrassment in his anxiety to tell of Chico's exploits.
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