Would it be as
it had been before, a few spasmodic successes and then--loss and defeat?
Suddenly (was he dreaming?) there was a whirr of wings; he rubbed his
sleeve across his eyes. Swiftly there shot across his vision something that
in the soft moonbeams seemed an arrow of silver--a flash of light! He was
dazed; could it be--Chico? At full speed he ran to the nest, and there,
close by the side of cooing Pepita, lay the exhausted bird, while a ray of
moonlight closed a stain of blood across his breast.
Quick as a flash the boy reached in his hand, unfastened the little
aluminum pouch, and, without waiting to find out whether the pigeon was
alive or dead, fairly flew to the War Department where a light was burning,
as he knew it would be. In these days of strain the high official scarcely
closed his eyes and on this night he was tracing over and over again the
plan of the new offensive.
Andrea rapped on the window--he could not wait to knock and be admitted,
neither did he dare to leave his watch for even a fraction of a second.
"Who is it?"--the window was cautiously opened.
"It is I, Andrea Minetti, number 7788 has just come in with a message from
the front." With that he thrust the metal cylinder into the officer's hand.
He tore it open and for one tense moment scanned the bit of tissue paper,
then, with tears of joy, he read aloud: "'Austrian offensive declared a
failure--Italians make sweeping victories along the Piave: Evviva Venezia!
Evviva Italia!'" Then added exultantly, "Buone notizie! good news, good
news!" and the tears coursed freely down his furrowed cheek, Andrea, beside
himself with joy, threw his cap Into the air, echoing; "Viva Venezia!
Evviva Italia! It was my Chico brought the message!"
At mention of the pigeon the officer turned quickly, asking:
"Your bird--tell me, is he alive and in good condition?"
"I know not, signore, there was a stain of blood upon his breast, but I
stopped not to find the cause.
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