"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 important messages my bird will carry!"
In reply she only smiled—it was enough for her that the pigeons loved to have her stroke them as they nestled in her lap.