"Bene! bene!" [Footnote: Good! good!] shouted Andrea, clapping his hands.
"Then," continued the old man, without paying any attention to the interruption, "if he does well from such distances as that, we'll gradually take him farther away—perhaps to the Lido and—"
"To the Lido," repeated Andrea, to whom this seemed a great distance. "Do you think he could find his way from there?"
"Without the least difficulty," was the answer, "and within a few weeks, unless I miss my guess; after a while we'll have to arrange to try him from other parts of Italy—Milan, for instance."
"Milan! Other parts of Italy!" The children found it hard to fancy cooing little Chico finding his way home from distant cities, and in spite of himself, Andrea's eyes filled with tears, as he faltered, "I—wouldn't—want—him to get—lost!"
"Not much danger of that, I fancy. If he doesn't fall down on the easy flights, he'll be able to take the longer ones.
"Why, lad," Paolo went on kindly, touched by the boy's dejection, "if you want Chico to be a real homing pigeon, you must expect him to run some risks. Don't you remember Dandolo's bird that carried the glad news from Constantinople?"
Andrea nodded, doubtfully. While he had thought much of the possible glory Chico might gain as a faithful messenger, for the first time he trembled lest, in realizing the ambition, the safety of the bird might be endangered. Thoughts of possible perils filled his mind with foreboding, but he didn't wish Paolo to think he was turning the white feather, so he swallowed hard and forced himself to say:
"I guess it will be all right."
"All right! I should say it would be," was the hearty response; "and just remember, my boy, if you expect your bird to have a stout heart you must keep up your own courage."