To the children the nest was a place of mystery, and the first thing in the
morning they would together climb up to the old box and whisper:
"Buon giorno, Chico; buon giorno, Pepita; how are the eggs to-day?"
And then the mystery deepened! It was Paolo who whispered the wonderful
news in their ears.
"How do you know the eggs have hatched?" Andrea queried somewhat
doubtfully.
In reply the old man pointed to the pavement where some broken shells were
a mute witness of the miracle that had occurred.
They were wild with ecstasy, and could scarcely wait to see the little
fledglings, and the second morning after the old caretaker let them come
into the shed and, by the light of a flickering candle, showed them the
naked little bodies, just as he had shown them Chico, months before.
Pepita had, from the first, accepted the children as her friends (probably
Chico had told her all about them in the early days of their courtship),
but she couldn't help showing her anxiety on this occasion, and flew
distractedly back and forth, while Chico kept jealous watch perched on
Andrea's shoulder.
He was a good father, never failing in loving attention to his family, and
bringing the choicest tidbits to Pepita.
He hovered anxiously about while she fed the greedy fledglings with the
soft pulpy mass she prepared so carefully, and was always ready to look
after the "bambini," as Maria insisted on calling the baby birds.
Altogether, Chico was so taken up with his new cares that his training was
badly interrupted, and Andrea, especially, became greatly worried lest he
should forget all he had learned.
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