These spoiled birds
that flutter about the Square have no spirit in them, and I doubt if one of
them could carry a message even from the Lido!"
"Chico could," asserted Andrea stoutly, touched to the quick by the
sweeping declaration; "he could carry a message from 'most anywhere to
Venice!"
"Who's Chico?" Pietro asked quickly, elbowing his way through the surging
mass of people in the church.
"He's my pigeon!" Andrea answered, eager to defend his bird, and raising
his voice in an effort to make himself heard above the confusion. "I've
trained him, and I'll show you to-morrow! I don't suppose I could get to
him in all this crowd."
"To-morrow will do as well," Pietro managed to ejaculate, as they found
themselves at last in the Square, which was still solidly jammed with
people. "I am somewhat of a pigeon-fancier myself, and if that bird of
yours is what you say he is we'll see, we'll see!"
With this their conversation was interrupted and not again resumed, the
remainder of the afternoon being spent in promenading the Square, going up
in the lift of the Campanile, and managing to appease their appetites with
the various pastes and fruits which Pietro generously stood treat for.
Almost before they were aware of it, the afternoon was drawing to a close,
and with the coming of twilight Venice became more of a fairyland than
ever.
Outlining the buildings throughout the Square, throwing into prominence
every graceful point and cornice, were thousands of electric lights: St.
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