"Sometime, I will do it," he used to say, as he struck a determined
attitude, and Maria would look at him with adoring eyes. How venturesome he
was! He was taller than she by half a head, and his added two years gave
him a place in dignity far above her.
It was no wonder the boy should be so crazy over the great bronze steeds
when one remembers that Venice is practically horseless and that they were
almost the only ones he had ever seen.
Perchance, even, as they talked, they would hear the flutter of wings, and
some half-dozen pigeons, with soft coos, would light on their shoulders.
Then Maria would laugh aloud with delight, and Andrea would forget his wild
dreams as they stroked the glossy wings and admired the bright eyes, all
the while feeding them dried peas or grain with which their mother never
forgot to see their pockets were supplied.
If, by chance, they flung a handful on the ground, in a second there would
be a whole flock of pigeons, lighting on the pavement.
Then Maria would clap her hands, and Andrea would have all he could do to
see that no bird, greedier than the rest, got more than its share.
The children would be so absorbed that they would become quite unconscious
of the tourists that would gather to watch the pretty group, for Venice was
full of tourists in those days--people who came, even from far-off America,
to see the wonderful St. Mark's Square, and hard-hearted, indeed, was the
man or woman who could turn away without buying at least one bag of grain
from insistent vendors and join the children in feeding the pigeons.
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