RUK-AT-A-COO"
There was no denying the fact that Chico was a handsome bird, and as time
passed, he became more and more careful of his appearance. He would spend
fully half an hour each morning over his toilet, smoothing every feather
into place with the most exact nicety, polishing his delicately arched
bill, and proudly spreading his tail. Then, when the sun shone full upon
him, the peculiar markings of his wings seemed fairly radiant in their
glorious iridescence.
From the saucy tilt of his dainty head to his graceful feet, he was a Beau
Brummel among pigeons.
It was no wonder that his little master's heart swelled with pride, and
that he repeated, over and over again, "My Chico is grande; my Chico
is--GREAT!"
But there came a time when it was evident that, in spite of the gorgeous
appearance he presented, he was not altogether happy.
While he polished his beak and preened his feathers more assiduously than
ever, there was a note of pleading in his cooing that puzzled the children,
and caused Andrea to remark: "I wonder what can be the matter with Chico!"
In reply Paolo nodded his wise old head and answered, with a touch of
sympathy, "I know--he's lonely, and wants a mate." The old man even went so
far as to select a dainty little lady pigeon and place her on the ledge,
but alas! Chico resented what he evidently considered an intrusion,
retreated to the extreme edge, where he looked askance at his companion,
and refused, to be moved by her modest advances.
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