Those were wonderful days for the children, for though they missed their
father and mother, they were always happy with old Paolo.
"Buon giorno" [Footnote: Good-morning.] they would shout every morning when
he stopped for them on his way to the famous church, and Maria, holding
tight to one of the old man's hands, would trot along by his side, while
Andrea, more independent, would run on ahead in his eagerness to thread the
narrow streets catch the first glimpse of the Piazza, as St. Mark's Square
is called.
Then, while the old man cleaned and dusted, the children wandered about
the dusky interior, touching the gold mosaic figures with awed fingers, or
gazing reverently at the great altar front of silver gilt.
After a little, hand in hand, they would scamper out into the bright
sunshine where they never tired of the many wonderful objects that make St.
Mark's Square a fairyland for young and old alike.
"'Roglo!" little Maria would cry, as she pointed upward to the great clock
with its dial of blue and gold. It was the nearest she could come to
pronouncing "orologio," the Italian word for clock. Then she would listen
as hard as ever she could, hoping the bronze figures would strike the hour
on the bell.
But Andrea loved best the horses that stood above the entrance of the
church. In his little soul he almost worshiped the fiery steeds and loved
to fancy himself seated on their backs. He even went so far as to plan to
scale the wall in order to satisfy his ambition.
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