"Do
you think he could find his way from there?"
"Without the least difficulty," was the answer, "and within a few weeks,
unless I miss my guess; after a while we'll have to arrange to try him from
other parts of Italy--Milan, for instance."
"Milan! Other parts of Italy!" The children found it hard to fancy cooing
little Chico finding his way home from distant cities, and in spite
of himself, Andrea's eyes filled with tears, as he faltered,
"I--wouldn't--want--him to get--lost!"
"Not much danger of that, I fancy. If he doesn't fall down on the easy
flights, he'll be able to take the longer ones.
"Why, lad," Paolo went on kindly, touched by the boy's dejection, "if you
want Chico to be a real homing pigeon, you must expect him to run some
risks. Don't you remember Dandolo's bird that carried the glad news from
Constantinople?"
Andrea nodded, doubtfully. While he had thought much of the possible glory
Chico might gain as a faithful messenger, for the first time he trembled
lest, in realizing the ambition, the safety of the bird might be
endangered. Thoughts of possible perils filled his mind with foreboding,
but he didn't wish Paolo to think he was turning the white feather, so he
swallowed hard and forced himself to say:
"I guess it will be all right."
"All right! I should say it would be," was the hearty response; "and just
remember, my boy, if you expect your bird to have a stout heart you must
keep up your own courage.
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