At last Saturday came, the day Paolo had set for the training to begin. Andrea was so excited he had no appetite for breakfast and would have rushed from the house without a mouthful if Luisa had not insisted that he eat at least one piece of the hot polenta. But that was all—he almost bolted it whole, and, without waiting for Paolo, was out of the house and in St. Mark's Square at least half an hour earlier than ever before.
Not that it was much satisfaction, for hardhearted Paolo had carefully placed the pigeon in the basket the night before, saying as he secured the cover:
"He must not be allowed his freedom until we reach the Rialto, then he will be hungry and doubly anxious to reach home."
"Can't we give him anything to eat?" Andrea asked anxiously.
"Not a morsel!" was the stern reply. "If he is to be trained at all, it must be done right. Come, children, give me your promise not to interfere."
"We won't," they answered in unison, and though Andrea still thought the treatment very harsh, he dared not again raise his voice in further protest.
It seemed very forlorn not to find Chico waiting on his window ledge when he turned the corner of the church, and with heart aching for the imprisoned bird, he entered the dark little shed and looked anxiously for the basket. There it was, in the corner where Paolo had left it, but, as he called once, and then again, there was no answering "coo."
Andrea's heart sank; perhaps the bird was sick. Beset by anxious thoughts he crossed the room, took the basket in his hand and held it to his ear. Not a sound! Genuinely frightened, he regretted bitterly that he had ever wished the bird trained. Why had he not been content with him as he was—the most beautiful bird in St. Mark's Square?
Turning the basket about, he looked it all over carefully. There was a slight stir. He breathed a sigh of relief, then joyfully caught his breath as he suddenly discovered two bright eyes looking straight at him through one of the cracks.
"Chico!" he cried joyfully; "Chico! Are you all right?" Placing his ear to the wicker prison, he caught a faint answering "coo," and a minute later the very tip of the bird's bill found its way through one of the cracks. It was heartrending, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Andrea restrained himself from tearing off the cover of the basket and feeding his hungry pet, but he had given his promise, so he was obliged to content himself with holding the basket close to his cheek and murmuring soft words into the responsive ears of the prisoner.