The world thrilled with tales of bravery, the exploits of Italian soldiers and aviators were quoted far and wide. But with all their heroism they could not stay the Austrian advance.
With the coming of 1918 deepest gloom settled over Italy as the people girded themselves for what seemed a struggle for very existence: not the slightest suggestion of luxury was permitted, even the making and selling of cakes, pastry, and confectionery being sternly prohibited by government edict.
The Minetti family had fared as had the others, neither better nor worse, and though one corner of the wall of the modest home had been torn away in an explosion, the statue of the Virgin remained as if to protect from further harm. No news had come from Giovanni since his return to the front, over six months before, and Luisa, dry-eyed but worn and racked with anxiety, worked far into the night on bandages for the wounded. Maria, in common with others of her age, had lost the fresh prettiness that, by right, belongs to youth, and her form was bent by work and her face furrowed by lines of apprehension.
Of Chico nothing had been heard since the morning, months before, when his master had left him in the office of the War Department. One's heart ached for the faithful little mate, as she brooded forlornly on the window ledge, refusing to pay the slightest heed to any bold fellow who dared make overtures to her.
His bird was much in Andrea's thoughts as he paced back and forth each night upon his beat and, gazing into the sky in his lookout for aeroplanes, he would strain his eyes for a speck that might resolve itself into Chico's wings.
Possibly, he reasoned, the bird had not yet been made use of. Perhaps—and at the thought, his heart would almost fail him—perhaps, it might even be that he had been entrusted with some message, but had failed to reach his destination.
To the boy's other duties had been added that of watching the nest. He had scorned the suggestion that an electric bell be placed there to attract attention.
"As if I should not hear the slightest flutter of my Chico's wings!" he protested. But, to make sure, he even slept in the little room back of the church and arranged that hither should his meals be brought.
Poor lad! He, too, showed the strain of the Great War, and looked tense and worn. He was not the same Andrea who had dreamed of inventing some wonderful new glaze: now his ambition was to be an aviator in the service of the Government and, like the bird he loved, fly through the blue heavens.
One evening (it happened to be a cloudless one, with the moon scheduled to rise about one o'clock) he felt more than usually restless and on fire with this desire.