He had
scorned the suggestion that an electric bell be placed there to attract
attention.
"As if I should not hear the slightest flutter of my Chico's wings!" he
protested. But, to make sure, he even slept in the little room back of the
church and arranged that hither should his meals be brought.
Poor lad! He, too, showed the strain of the Great War, and looked tense
and worn. He was not the same Andrea who had dreamed of inventing some
wonderful new glaze: now his ambition was to be an aviator in the service
of the Government and, like the bird he loved, fly through the blue
heavens.
One evening (it happened to be a cloudless one, with the moon scheduled to
rise about one o'clock) he felt more than usually restless and on fire with
this desire.
It was on such nights as this that the danger from air raids was especially
imminent, and the boy's senses were at tight tension.
As the moon rose, Venice stood revealed an enchanted city, a place of
beauty, touched as of old with a magic wand. Hark--already the clock was
striking the hour of two! Andrea's eyes wandered from one familiar object
to another the Ducal Palace, the new Campanile, the column of St. Theodore,
and, beyond, the dome of Sta. Maria della Salute. He held his breath, it
was so wonderful. And to think--to-night, to-morrow, all might be in ruins.
Surely the great God would never permit it!
Only a short time before, on June 15, the enemy had launched a new
offensive the Piave River, from the Asiago Plateau to the Adriatic Sea, and
though a few days later the news had reached Venice that their own brave
men had taken the offensive, nothing had since been heard.
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