To the children the nest was a place of mystery, and the first thing in the morning they would together climb up to the old box and whisper:

"Buon giorno, Chico; buon giorno, Pepita; how are the eggs to-day?"

And then the mystery deepened! It was Paolo who whispered the wonderful news in their ears.

"How do you know the eggs have hatched?" Andrea queried somewhat doubtfully.

In reply the old man pointed to the pavement where some broken sh.e.l.ls were a mute witness of the miracle that had occurred.

They were wild with ecstasy, and could scarcely wait to see the little fledglings, and the second morning after the old caretaker let them come into the shed and, by the light of a flickering candle, showed them the naked little bodies, just as he had shown them Chico, months before.

Pepita had, from the first, accepted the children as her friends (probably Chico had told her all about them in the early days of their courtship), but she couldn't help showing her anxiety on this occasion, and flew distractedly back and forth, while Chico kept jealous watch perched on Andrea's shoulder.

He was a good father, never failing in loving attention to his family, and bringing the choicest tidbits to Pepita.

He hovered anxiously about while she fed the greedy fledglings with the soft pulpy ma.s.s she prepared so carefully, and was always ready to look after the "bambini," as Maria insisted on calling the baby birds.

Altogether, Chico was so taken up with his new cares that his training was badly interrupted, and Andrea, especially, became greatly worried lest he should forget all he had learned.

"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 rea.s.suring. "Never you fear," he replied; "I have heard that the most important messages are entrusted to birds that have young in the nest. That is when the love of home is strongest."

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.

The spring advanced: there were other eggs in the nest, and other broods to be cared for, and always Chico remained the faithful husband and father--tender to his fledgling offspring--loving and true to his little wife.

And, whenever household cares permitted, the two could be seen on the window ledge, billing and cooing:

"Coo-oo, coo-oo-oo, Ruk-at-a-coo."

CHAPTER X

A GALA DAY

At last the new Campanile was completed. When the historic old bell tower had fallen that morning in July, the people had been stunned and had given way to such grief as only Italians feel over the loss of a thing of beauty.

It had fallen at nine-thirty in the morning, and when the Town Council met that evening, it had been at once decided that immediate steps be taken to erect a new tower, "dov'era, com'era" (where it was and as it was). And in this all Italy concurred. The first stone had been laid on St. Mark's day, April 25, 1903.

Slowly the graceful tower had risen from the confused ma.s.s of debris at its base, no effort being spared to make it as strong and beautiful as possible to conceive. Three thousand piles had been used in the foundation, and almost every fragment of the old had been utilized in the effort to reproduce, as nearly as possible, the much-loved structure. Carefully the shattered pieces of bas-reliefs had been fitted together by trained artisans, the figure of Venice on the east walls had been completely restored, while one favorite group of the Madonna and Child had been pieced from sixteen hundred fragments: the bells had been recast, and when this gala day dawned, the same gold angel surmounted the top of the new Campanile that had looked protectingly over the city for generations.

What wonder that Venice was beside herself with joy, and that great festivities had been arranged to celebrate the occasion--on St, Mark's day, 1912?

The city was filled with visitors; the little steamers and motor-boats chugged right merrily along the ca.n.a.ls, laden with sight-seers, while the gondoliers reaped a rich, harvest from the crowds of strangers.

Among those who came to attend the festivities was the children's uncle, Pietro Minetti. He was the elder brother of Giovanni, and was an important personage (at least in his own estimation) for had he not left the little Venetian home years before and become a citizen of the world? Andrea and Maria were wild with delight when they heard he was coming, and speculated much as to their rich uncle, for, of course, he must be rich as every one was out in the great world.

And at first sight it seemed that he must be even richer than they had dreamed, so elegant did he appear in his checked trousers and starched shirt. His mustache was waxed, and he walked with a swagger as he jauntily swung a cane.

All at once the little home on the side ca.n.a.l seemed poorer and shabbier than ever, and Luisa couldn't help wishing the smells of fish and garlic from the shop below were not quite so strong.

But though Pietro looked somewhat superciliously at the plain surroundings, after the strangeness wore off he proved to be a most entertaining guest, with his stories of the great cities which he had visited. He had been as far as London, and the children drew close in order that they might not lose a single syllable of his wonderful tales.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed, introducing the subject of the Campanile, "it really seems as if the town is waking up! I hear there is a lift in the tower, and the old angel on the top has been actually placed on a pivot, to act as a weather vane as well as a thing of beauty. That's more than could have been expected of slow Venetians. If it were only possible to get in a few automobiles there might be some hope for the city."

"Automobiles!" Giovanni was indignant, resenting even the mention of such newfangled contrivances. "Venice wouldn't be Venice with automobiles!"

"Well, motor-cycles, then!" laughed Pietro good naturedly; "anything that would give some noise and ginger to the old town. Pep is what Venice needs!" And he chuckled to himself at the thought of motor-cycles on St.

Mark's Square.

Neither Giovanni nor Luisa had any patience with such talk, but the children edged nearer, and their eyes grew bigger as they asked him eager questions in regard to the marvelous things he had mentioned.

"Have you ever seen horses?" Andrea ventured timidly; "I mean real horses, not pretend ones like those on the top of St. Mark's?"

"Horses!" he repeated, bursting into so loud a laugh that Maria shrank away, half frightened; "horses! Why, they're so old-fashioned that no one cares for them any more. They're quite too slow for the twentieth century!"

Andrea's head swam--horses old-fashioned! What kind of a strange world was it outside of Venice? All at once his childish air castles came tumbling down. But before he could question further it was time for bed, and with his imagination roused to the utmost he tossed uneasily until he fell asleep to dream he was racing with the wind in a strange kind of car with the Devil himself as driver.

The exercises were to begin at ten o'clock the next morning, and the Piazza was fairly packed with people hours before that time. Thanks to Paolo our little group had a good place to view the proceedings in a certain musty alcove of St. Mark's, and there they sat cramped through what seemed to Maria like interminable hours.

As for St. Mark's Square, even Pietro had only words of praise for its gala appearance: from the three flagstaffs opposite the church fluttered the colors of Italy. Everywhere was music, everywhere was gayety, and the crowds of people united in glad cries of "Viva Venezia!" [Footnote: Long live Venice!]

For Venice, more than any other place in the world, belongs to rich and poor alike, and in the midst of it all, sympathizing with every mood, is St. Mark's Church, the pride of the Venetian people. Never did she seem more glorious than on this gala day, never did her gold mosaics sparkle more brilliantly in the sunshine than when the great high magistrate p.r.o.nounced the solemn words: "Dov'era, com'era," and the bells rang to mark the completion of the exercises.

Then, hark! a whirr, whirr of wings, a sudden darkening of the sky that caused the joyful thousands to look into the heavens above them.

In an instant the shadow resolved itself into over twenty-five hundred pigeons that had been brought to Venice that they might carry the glad news to every part of Italy.

Then it was that the populace went wild with joy; thousands of handkerchiefs fluttered, the cries of "Viva Venezia!" swelled and rent the air, until they were drowned by the inspiring notes of the Italian national tune, played by patriotic musicians in the bandstand at Florian's.

Our little group shared in all the excitement, waving with the rest and joining in glad cries of "Urra! Urra!" Even Pietro was aroused to admiration, and as the music died away and the crowds began to disperse, he exclaimed: "There's no doubt but that Venice has outdone herself, and it was a master stroke to make such use of homing pigeons. These spoiled birds that flutter about the Square have no spirit in them, and I doubt if one of them could carry a message even from the Lido!"

"Chico could," a.s.serted Andrea stoutly, touched to the quick by the sweeping declaration; "he could carry a message from 'most anywhere to Venice!"

"Who's Chico?" Pietro asked quickly, elbowing his way through the surging ma.s.s of people in the church.

"He's my pigeon!" Andrea answered, eager to defend his bird, and raising his voice in an effort to make himself heard above the confusion. "I've trained him, and I'll show you to-morrow! I don't suppose I could get to him in all this crowd."

"To-morrow will do as well," Pietro managed to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e, as they found themselves at last in the Square, which was still solidly jammed with people. "I am somewhat of a pigeon-fancier myself, and if that bird of yours is what you say he is we'll see, we'll see!"

With this their conversation was interrupted and not again resumed, the remainder of the afternoon being spent in promenading the Square, going up in the lift of the Campanile, and managing to appease their appet.i.tes with the various pastes and fruits which Pietro generously stood treat for.

Almost before they were aware of it, the afternoon was drawing to a close, and with the coming of twilight Venice became more of a fairyland than ever.

Outlining the buildings throughout the Square, throwing into prominence every graceful point and cornice, were thousands of electric lights: St.