Dropping his work for the day, he spent the weary hours going up
and down the narrow streets in vain effort to discover some trace of him.
From time to time he called, "Chico! Chico!" But, alas, no Chico answered.
Then the night came. Still no news. The next morning Paolo resolved to go
to the authorities, and was about to set out when suddenly there was a cry
from Maria, who was sitting grieving on the lowest step of the church,
watching the pigeons flying about in the blue sky.
"There's Chico!" she exclaimed, greatly excited, and pointing to a small
speck, far above them. "It's he! I know it's he!"
"I'm afraid not," the old man answered, shaking his head; "we have been
deceived too many times."
But Andrea was leaning forward, his whole form tense with emotion, and, in
another moment with radiant face he flung his cap into the air, and leaped
to his feet, shouting, joyfully:
"Urra! Urra! It's he! It's he!" and so it proved. No other bird could fly
with such strong, sure strokes.
Soon he was in his nest drinking eagerly the water Andrea had placed for
him. It was the first thing he always wanted when he returned from a
flight, but now he drank more thirstily than usual Then, how he did eat! It
was plain he was half starved. There was no mistake about it, he was thin,
and his feathers were so bedraggled that it was evident he had not preened
them since he had been gone.
But he was home, nothing else mattered!
CHAPTER IX
"COO-OO, COO-OO-OO.
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