Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon | Page 4

nodded assent, and he went on, impressively:
"Dandolo was a great man. He was eighty years old at the time he came into the office, and blind, as well, but he was not too old to undertake mighty enterprises."
"When was it he lived?" asked Andrea meditatively.
"Oh, many, many years ago--I am inclined to think it must have been at least five or six hundred."
"Five or six hundred years ago!" repeated Andrea incredulously, his childish mind refusing to compass so great a lapse of time.
"Well--thereabouts," Paolo resumed, somewhat disturbed at the interruption; "it was in the time of the crusades. Have you ever heard of the crusades, my dear?" And he softly touched Maria's chin. 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." And any one seeing the old man would surely have thought that he had himself fought against the infidels, such fire shot from his eyes, and so tense became his muscles. "It was in the Fourth Crusade that Venice played so mighty a part."
"Was Dandolo the leader?" asked Andrea, sitting bolt upright in his excitement, and forgetting the pigeon which, loosed by the sudden movement, escaped, and soared, with a quick spiral curve, to the blue sky.
Regretfully, the child watched the flight, but settled back as Paolo went on:
"Old though he was, he was the hero of the whole expedition. Even the French had no general to compare with him. And tell me, both of you, did you ever see a picture of a Doge of Venice?"
"I have!" Maria cried; "and he wore a coat all red and gold and a cap--"
"Si! si!" the old man interrupted, almost beside himself with excitement; "those were his robes of state, but in armor, and on horseback before the walls of Constantinople! Ah, then he must have been magnifico!"
"On horseback, did you say?" repeated Andrea, and his eyes wandered to the bronze steeds the manes of which glistened in the sunlight.
Paolo nodded, "And I have no doubt but that the one great Dandolo rode was like those very horses; and, by the way, my lad, did you ever hear that they were part of the spoils he brought from the East in triumph and placed above our own St. Mark's?"
Without allowing Andrea time to comment on the amazing fact, he went on, still more excitedly;
"It is said that Dandolo, great as he was, would not have been able to take the city had it not been for a messenger pigeon that brought him most important information. Nor is that all the part the brave birds played at this great time, for it was no other than some of our own fine homers that conveyed the first news of glorious victory to Venice. Hence it was, that when the Doge returned, in triumph, he issued a proclamation that the pigeons should evermore be held in reverence."
Paolo paused, well-nigh exhausted by his enthusiasm, and, reaching over, laid his withered hand on the birds that still cooed contentedly in Maria's lap.
"It's no wonder they're so tame when every one has been loving them for the last five or six hundred years!" she murmured.
"Paolo!" Andrea suddenly asked, with sparkling eyes, "do you suppose that we can teach my pigeon to carry messages?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," replied the old caretaker, entering into the lad's enthusiasm; "they're as intelligent now as they ever were. All they need is the training. It's funny how their little heads can hold so much."
Reaching over, he took one of the birds from Maria's lap and pointed to the bulge just above the tiny ear:
"Some people say that's where their sense of direction is located, but you can't convince me it isn't in their hearts. It's the love they have for their homes that makes 'em fly from any distance straight to their nesting-places. I've noticed that a good homing pigeon has bright eyes, and a stout heart, not to mention a keen sense of direction, and strong wings to carry him long distances, but more than all else, there must be the love of home."
Andrea had lost not a syllable of what the old man said. For a long time he had secretly cherished the desire to own one of the pretty fluttering creatures, but not, until now, had the possibility occurred to him that he might teach one to carry messages.
Long after Paolo had returned to his duties in the church, the boy sat watching the clouds of pigeons circling above, or flying double (bird and shadow), against the walls of the church.
He had made up his mind that as soon as Paolo fulfilled his promise, he would begin to train his fledgling.
"There's no knowing," he cried eagerly to Maria, "what