Far into the night the brothers sat and talked together, talked of palaces and gliding gondolas, of great lords and ladies, of soldiers moving in splendid uniforms about the Piazza of St. Mark. They talked of Carnival time too, of the merry pranks the people played on each other, of the procession on the water and the presents given to the Doge.
“And sometimes,” Vittorio exclaimed proudly, “they are very splendid. Sometimes they are of gold and silver, and of silk stuffs brought from the Indies.”
Leonardo sat silent for a minute. He knew little of present giving, for in the mountains where he lived there was no money to spend on such things. But always when he made his mother a garland of flowers on her birthday, she seemed so happy about it that he thought it must be very lovely to bestow gifts. So he said softly, “I should like to send a present to the Doge. It would seem like doing something for Venice. But I have nothing to give.”
“Wait until you are a man and can be a soldier,” the big brother answered. “Then you will be doing much.”
The next morning he was up at daybreak. Vittorio had only two days’ leave, which meant that he must start back at noon, and his mother had promised that Leonardo might go with him to the edge of the village if he finished his tasks in time. So he milked the goats before there was a bit of stirring about the hut, and led the geese from their pen to crop the green grass on the hillside. Then he cut some grass and threw it to the old horse that was their most prized possession, and by the time his brother came from the hut he called to him, “I have only to feed the pigeons yet.”
Vittorio smiled and stood watching as the boy whistled to the birds.
The gentle creatures flew up at Leonardo’s call, and as he scattered crumbs to them, he thought again of the great carnival at Venice and the gifts that would be made to the Doge. He wished that he too might join that throng of givers, but he possessed nothing but his pigeons, and a bird would seem a very poor present to offer a ruler. But he happened to think that the schoolmaster had once told him that it is not the cost or the beauty of an offering that makes it precious, but the good will of the giver, and that a beggar’s portion may be a lovelier gift than that of a prince. The schoolmaster was very wise. He could both read and write, which only a few could do in that day, so anything that he said must be true; and the memory of the words brought an idea to Leonardo that made the boy’s eyes dance.
“Vittorio,” he exclaimed suddenly, “I have thought of something.”
Vittorio wondered what excited his brother so.
“Well?” he asked as he walked near.