OLD PAOLO
II. TRAINING
VII. VIII. A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE
IX. "COO-OO, COO-OO-OO. A GALA DAY
XI. AND ALL FOR ITALY! XIV. XV. It was the nearest she could come to
pronouncing "orologio," the Italian word for clock. But Andrea loved best the horses that stood above the entrance of the
church. "Is it, then, a matter of such grief?" "Si," [Footnote: Yes.] And in a paroxysm of delight, he seized one of his good
friend's hands. "How about you, little one? Would you, too, like a pigeon of your own?" "No," she answered shyly, "I love them _all_ too much." And the soft coo,
coo-oo-oo from the lapful of birds seemed appreciative of her words. "Si! Si!" Before she could reply, her
brother put in, proudly, "I know, they were wars to rescue the holy lands
from the--" he paused. "Infidels," supplied Paolo approvingly. "That's right." Ah, then he must have been magnifico!" "On horseback, did you say?" she murmured. "It is only that he has promised me a pigeon of my own!" Greatly relieved, his mother turned again to the polenta. What a child he was, to
be sure, to be so pleased at the idea of the possession of a pigeon! "But, madre," he protested, "I am going to train it to carry messages. "Si! Si!" "Well, well!" Giovanni answered, taking his seat at the head of the table,
"and so you are to have a pigeon for a pet. in a tiny cage, but a pigeon! Why, you play with them
all day long on St. Mark's Square." "But that is not like having one of one's own," the boy protested. "A parrot, a singing bird, a couple of
grilli! "Not so soon, my lad, there is much that you should see." And, taking him
by the hand, Giovanni led him into a great room with two immense pictures. The slave
was freed, and his master converted. It was here that the wedding
ceremony was performed in the long ago, and the view is most beautiful from
this point. without, however,
receiving any answer. On reaching the Piazza, his manner showed still greater excitement. he cried, "don't be afraid. he cried; then, in an ecstasy of
delight, "Is it mine?" "It's a baby pigeon," she softly murmured. "Si! Si!" Come now, would you like to have a look
at him?" "Si! Si!" "Si," was the ready assent; "I expect he's hungry enough, with no one to
wait on him. By the way, did you ever see a baby pigeon fed?" Andrea anxiously interrupted, as if he felt
that his charge might prove somewhat of a responsibility. interrupted Andrea,
on fire with his desire at once to realize his ambition. Paolo laughed. "One question at a time. By the way, your bird
should have a name. "Si, but he will soon be grown up" put in Andrea; "I was wondering how
Marco would do." "What was it?" Poor Chico, this was what had happened to him, and he had huddled,
shivering, close to the column of St. Theodore and tried in vain to reason
everything out in his pigeon mind. In fact, that was how the accident had happened. He was still dreaming when he heard a voice call, "Chico, Chico--are you
still there, Chico?" He raised his head. "Chico! Chico!" "He's here, he's here!" Then the bill was withdrawn, and Chico disappeared from view. My! Oh, see! After this Chico was always waiting for the children, and would cock his
head on one side when he saw them coming, uttering little squeaky noises
that did not sound in the least like cooing. and, miracle of miracles! "Well," he exclaimed, "it's the first time I ever taught a bird to fly. Here
was her chance. "Tell me, Paolo, did you ever see so fine a bird?" "Do you mean it, Paolo? "Just about everything," the old man wisely replied. As he finished, he began
tracing figures on the pavement, and the children, wondering still more,
watched him, fascinated. shouted Andrea, clapping his hands. "Not much danger of that, I fancy. Andrea nodded, doubtfully. was the stern reply. "If he is to be trained at all, it
must be done right. Come, children, give me your promise not to interfere." Turning the basket about, he looked it all over carefully. "Chico!" So Paolo found him. "No," was the quick reply, "I am only talking to him. An arrow of silver shot through the air, and in another
instant Chico was in his nest. "Urra! Urra!" Chico, old bird! My,
but I'm proud of you!" he cried excitedly, "I told you he had the points of a good
homing pigeon. Then, laying his hand on Andrea's
shoulder, he added, "My boy, you have a bird of which you may well be
proud." "It's a great thing, Chico!" Perhaps, who knows, you and I may do as much some day." After this it was
not so easy, and on several occasions Chico had adventures that tried even
his stout little heart, and brought many an hour of anxiety to his friends. He's a
mighty fine bird, my boy!" As for Chico, one could see that he greatly enjoyed his experience. "No, signore," was the quick reply. But Andrea, intent upon his mission,
felt vaguely disturbed, liking neither the looks of the man nor the tone of
his inquiry. A. hundred? As for Chico his troubles for the day had only begun. while Andrea, fairly beside himself, mourned as he stroked
his wounded pet. I know It was! "It is only
a flesh wound, and he will soon be himself again. Poor Chico!" at the same time gently touching the
bird's head, who responded with a mournful "coo." "Only for a boy's pleasure," was the short reply. After this it was
not long before Venice came in sight, more lovely than ever in the first
twilight. With a sigh Paolo stretched his limbs, cramped by sitting so long in one
position. He was getting old, he reflected, and found even a few hours'
excursion tiring in the extreme. "It would only worry them, and what's the use?" he reflected. Poor Chico! Catching hold of the trembling body, he lifted out the bird and feasted his
eyes upon him. After all, it was only a messenger with a telegram
recalling him immediately to Vienna, which, he reflected, fitted nicely
into his plans. It was impossible, and he gave himself up to
blackest despair. Worse than anything, he found it necessary to
lay aside his possessions. It was securely locked. It was Chico! But at
that moment the mother threw herself against him, screaming:
"You touch my child! But Paolo had his theory, and the more he thought the matter over, the more
he felt convinced that the bird was alive and in the possession of the
Austrian. From time to time he called, "Chico! Chico!" But, alas, no Chico answered. she exclaimed, greatly excited, and pointing to a small
speck, far above them. "I'm afraid not," the old man answered, shaking his head; "we have been
deceived too many times." But Andrea was leaning forward, his whole form tense with emotion, and, in
another moment with radiant face he flung his cap into the air, and leaped
to his feet, shouting, joyfully:
"Urra! and so it proved. No other bird could fly
with such strong, sure strokes. It was the first thing he always wanted when he returned from a
flight, but now he drank more thirstily than usual Then, how he did eat! But he was home, nothing else mattered! CHAPTER IX
"COO-OO, COO-OO-OO. From the saucy tilt of his dainty head to his graceful feet, he was a Beau
Brummel among pigeons. "Coo-oo," he would begin, and she would answer softly. Then they would join
in "Coo-oos coo-oo-oo. Ruk-at-a-coo, coo-oo." "Well, what is it?" "He'll be all out of practice," he mourned, "and the next time we try him
he'll forget and lose his way home." But Paolo was reassuring. And so it proved: when Chico was once more tried, he surprised them by the
swiftness of his flight. In fact, in some instances he actually made more
than thirty miles an hour. And in
this all Italy concurred. Among those who came to attend the festivities was the children's uncle,
Pietro Minetti. His mustache was waxed, and he walked with a swagger as he jauntily
swung a cane. "Well, well!" "Well, motor-cycles, then!" Why, they're so old-fashioned that no one
cares for them any more. Then, hark! Urra!" Pietro asked quickly, elbowing his way through the surging
mass of people in the church. "I've
trained him, and I'll show you to-morrow! Something was going to happen, but for a few moments he could
not think what it was. --and Pietro pointed to Chico, entirely ignoring
little Pepita by his side. Andrea nodded, not daring to trust himself to speak. "Hum-mm." "Hum-mm." Pietro caught the bird firmly in one hand, at the same time
swiftly running the other over the trembling body. Then, very slowly, Pietro went on appraisingly. "Very good, very good,
indeed! "Oh, yes!" You have really a fine
bird, my boy, and I would suggest that it might be well to exhibit him at
some pigeon show. What say you, will you
accompany me? He
could see some of them and realized they were, for the most part, dejected
looking specimens. The bird will be perfectly safe. A claim check, you know. Come, buck up and be a sport!" Still doubtful, Andrea sorrowfully relinquished his pet. But Andrea remained
listless, only rousing when his proposed a visit to the tomb of Romeo and
Juliet which was the one place his mother had charged him to see. Urra!" CHICO HAD WON. Look at the length of his wings, and his eye! Then, did you watch
him? Why, bless me, I'd like to get hold of that bird. It was then Pietro reappeared, jubilant, of course. But, no, his uncle was
obdurate, and was moved by no entreaties. He was puzzled. But somewhere was Venice, _somewhere_ his nest--with Pepita and the
fledglings. The thunder rumbled, the lightning flashed, the rain fell. After all, what had it all amounted
to if the bird had been lost in the storm? It was
Maria, with her father and mother just behind. "Urra! Urra!" Oh, isn't he the
grande bird?" Then they all talked at once, asking questions, first about the pigeon
show, and then about the adventures in Verona. "Si! was the proud answer as Andrea went on to
describe how it "went like the wind," just like the one he had dreamed of. As for Chico, he was constantly establishing new records, and his wings
bore witness to many triumphs. Then the Great War came, and the world shook with its thunders. On every wind our banners fly,
Rise all with arms, all with fire!" But Andrea was resolved on no delay, and without more ado bore off
the struggling bird, just as Pepita fluttered into the aperture, with an
apology for being late, and ready to assume her wifely duties. "Chico! Chico!" I'm sorry to take you away, but you and I
have a duty to our country and we mustn't shirk!" "And, Chico," the boy went on, "you must do your part, no matter what
happens. And, if you"--he choked a little at the thought--"and if you
should never come back, it will be for Venice, and for Italy. We won't
forget that, will we, my bird?" "Si, signore." Tell me, what shall I give you for your bird? the boy protested stoutly, "It is my wish to
give his services to my country!" But Andrea shook his head, "No, signore, it is for Italy. "To be sure, to be sure," the officer cleared his throat. "Si, signore, one will go to-morrow. On every wind our banners fly,
Rise all with arms, all with fire!" Possibly, he reasoned, the bird had not yet been made use of. he
protested. He held his breath, it
was so wonderful. And to think--to-night, to-morrow, all might be in ruins. "It is I, Andrea Minetti, number 7788 has just come in with a message from
the front." Then added exultantly, "Buone notizie! good news, good
news!" "Then go, go quickly. If you will take him to the hospital, I
myself will telephone the story!" Poor Chico!" rent the air. Oh, but he's a sport!" As for Chico, if he could have spoken he would have told a harrowing
tale. Then, on and on, in
spite of the great aeroplanes constantly threatening destruction. Chico was soon about again and was the hero of the Square. When the time came for conferring honors upon the war heroes, Chico was not
forgotten. It bore the arms of
Italy on one side and a pigeon on the other, with the inscription, "De
virtute." As he paused, Andrea protested, "No, No! "Come tell us, what is your ambition?" "To be an aviator, signore, in the service of my country," was the
stammering answer. Andrea bowed his head. * * * * *
The Great War is now a matter of history, and once more tourists are
flocking to Venice. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon, by
Lucy M. Blanchard