CHAPTER IX
"COO-OO, COO-OO-OO. RUK-AT-A-COO"
There was no denying the fact that Chico was a handsome bird, and as time passed, he became more and more careful of his appearance. He would spend fully half an hour each morning over his toilet, smoothing every feather into place with the most exact nicety, polishing his delicately arched bill, and proudly spreading his tail. Then, when the sun shone full upon him, the peculiar markings of his wings seemed fairly radiant in their glorious iridescence.
From the saucy tilt of his dainty head to his graceful feet, he was a Beau
Brummel among pigeons.
It was no wonder that his little master's heart swelled with pride, and that he repeated, over and over again, "My Chico is grande; my Chico is—GREAT!"
But there came a time when it was evident that, in spite of the gorgeous appearance he presented, he was not altogether happy.
While he polished his beak and preened his feathers more assiduously than ever, there was a note of pleading in his cooing that puzzled the children, and caused Andrea to remark: "I wonder what can be the matter with Chico!"
In reply Paolo nodded his wise old head and answered, with a touch of sympathy, "I know—he's lonely, and wants a mate." The old man even went so far as to select a dainty little lady pigeon and place her on the ledge, but alas! Chico resented what he evidently considered an intrusion, retreated to the extreme edge, where he looked askance at his companion, and refused, to be moved by her modest advances. Not a single "coo" would he give, and to his everlasting disgrace finally gently but firmly pushed her off the ledge. It was plain she had no charms for him! After one or two further attempts, which ended in the same way, Paolo gave up and allowed Chico to manage his own courting.
When his gentle, beseeching cooing failed to attract, he resorted to bolder methods, flying about the Square, and lingering longer than was his wont among neighboring nests, until he chanced upon a pigeon that took his fancy.
She was a modest little thing, soft drab in color, and not as strikingly marked as he, but she was popular with the birds about, and Chico had to fight one or two lusty rivals before he won her for himself.
The children watched it all with fascinated interest, and when one morning they found her by his side on the ledge outside his nest, they were fairly beside themselves with delight.
All day long they perched together, billing and cooing to their hearts' content, "the prettiest sight in Venice," as all agreed who saw them.
"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."
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. But it was Paolo who declared he could give a pretty good guess as to what they were saying to each other in their soft pigeon language.
"Well, what is it?" Andrea asked incredulously.
"She wants him to help her fix up the old nest," he asserted in a tone of confidence that greatly impressed his audience; "like the rest of the women-folks, she isn't satisfied with it as it is, I don't know as I blame her—it's a pretty poor excuse for a home, even if Chico did manage to make it do while he was a bachelor."
The children's faith in the old man increased tenfold when, the very next day, they discovered Pepita returning from a short flight with a few coarse straws in her beak, while in another moment Chico came flying around the corner of the church with half a dozen more.
"You were right!" Andrea exclaimed, as he made an effort to restrain his boisterous delight, and quietly looked in at the busy pair; "they are working as hard as ever they can this very minute."
After that there were more straws brought, besides other things evidently intended for lining, and though their home, when done, was not as smooth or fine a piece of workmanship as many other birds can boast of, at least it was comfortable, and exactly according to their ideas.
Chico had always loved his nest, but, with the appearance of two eggs under Pepita's breast, he found it difficult to leave, even on necessary flights. He was a devoted husband and was content to perch by her side the whole day long, softly cooing in his efforts to entertain her, and always ready to relieve her in keeping the eggs warm when she wished to take a turn around the Square for exercise or in search of food.
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 shells 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 mass 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 reassuring. "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."