At a safe distance the stranger followed until St. Mark's Square was reached. There he concealed himself behind a column and watched to see the location of Chico's nest.
It was so late that the children had gone home, but Andrea had left a folded paper, weighted by a stone, on the window ledge. Opening it Paolo deciphered, without difficulty, the boy's writing.
"Chico reached home at ten minutes to four."
"Bene!" the old man ejaculated, forgetting his fatigue; "he made it in thirty minutes, and it took me all of three hours."
As he reached his rough hand in through the window and touched affectionately the sleeping bird, the Austrian moved from his position and slunk down a side street. He had found out all he wanted, and his malicious expression changed to one of triumph as he muttered:
"I'll have that bird yet, in spite of the old man!"
CHAPTER VIII
A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE
Ever since Chico had become grown he had been in the habit of flying from his nest in the early morning for a brief survey of the Piazza. First, he would make his way to the famous well and, after a refreshing bath, would walk about on the ground for a while in search of stray morsels of food, perchance left by tourists the day before. Then, on the way back to his ledge, he would stop for a moment here and there among the statuary for a gossipy "coo" with one and another pigeon friend. But no matter how interested he became in the sights and news of the Square, he was always on his ledge in time to greet his dear human friends, upon whose appearance there would ensue such an excited fluttering of wings and such a delighted cooing that Maria would laugh aloud in glee, while Andrea emptied his pockets of choicest tidbits.
One morning, a few weeks after the trip to Chioggia, as Chico was making his customary early flight, his bright eyes caught sight of some enticing crumbs on the pavement close to the steps leading to the new Campanile. They seemed unusually good, and he lingered for some time pecking, first at one and then another.