: Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon by Blanchard Lucy Mansfield Blanchard - Birds Juvenile fiction; Homing pigeons War use Juvenile fiction; World War 1914-1918 Italy Juvenile Fiction

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OLD PAOLO

Some years before the Great War, there lived in a little house on one of the side canals of Venice, an honest workman and his family. Giovanni Minetti, for such was his name, was employed in a certain glass factory in Murano, while, in all Venice, there was no one with fingers more deft in the making of beautiful lace than Luisa, his wife.

At the time of our story, Andrea, the elder child, was nearly eight, and his little sister, Maria, two years younger.

Consigning the children to the care of her uncle , Luisa would go each morning to the lace factory, returning just in time to prepare the simple dinner, at eventide.

Those were wonderful days for the children, for though they missed their father and mother, they were always happy with old Paolo.

"Buon giorno" they would shout every morning when he stopped for them on his way to the famous church, and Maria, holding tight to one of the old man's hands, would trot along by his side, while Andrea, more independent, would run on ahead in his eagerness to thread the narrow streets catch the first glimpse of the Piazza, as St. Mark's Square is called.

Then, while the old man cleaned and dusted, the children wandered about the dusky interior, touching the gold mosaic figures with awed fingers, or gazing reverently at the great altar front of silver gilt.

After a little, hand in hand, they would scamper out into the bright sunshine where they never tired of the many wonderful objects that make St. Mark's Square a fairyland for young and old alike.

"'Roglo!" little Maria would cry, as she pointed upward to the great clock with its dial of blue and gold. It was the nearest she could come to pronouncing "orologio," the Italian word for clock. Then she would listen as hard as ever she could, hoping the bronze figures would strike the hour on the bell.

But Andrea loved best the horses that stood above the entrance of the church. In his little soul he almost worshiped the fiery steeds and loved to fancy himself seated on their backs. He even went so far as to plan to scale the wall in order to satisfy his ambition.

"Sometime, I will do it," he used to say, as he struck a determined attitude, and Maria would look at him with adoring eyes. How venturesome he was! He was taller than she by half a head, and his added two years gave him a place in dignity far above her.

It was no wonder the boy should be so crazy over the great bronze steeds when one remembers that Venice is practically horseless and that they were almost the only ones he had ever seen.

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