"You don't want our girls in that rabble on the Corso," said Mr. Pinckney. "We'd better stay here and see the Columbina."
So stay they did, and on the Saturday before Easter gathered with the rest of the crowd before the cathedral, their carriages joining the line of others, to watch for the great car filled with fireworks. Hundreds of country people had assembled, for this was a great occasion to them, much depending, in their superstitious minds, upon the voyage of the dove.
Jack and Jean, as interested as the Italian spectators, craned their necks to see the famous Columbina. "What does it look like?" asked Jean. "Is it a real dove?"
"No," her Aunt Helen told her, "it is only a contrivance in the shape of one."
"How does it get here?"
"It is lighted at the high altar during the Gloria and is run along a string or wire to the car."
This was not so very mysterious, but was sufficiently interesting to be looked for eagerly, and its progress to and from the altar became a more exciting thing to watch than the fireworks themselves.
At last the fireworks ceased. There was a movement in the crowd. Something else was to follow. "Oh, see the white oxen," cried Jack.
Every one looked to see the mild-eyed creatures who, with slow tread, dragged the car to the Via del Proconsolo.