CHICO
When Paolo called for the children Monday morning, there was an air of
mystery about him that was distinctly puzzling. Then, too, he walked
unusually fast, so that Andrea found it difficult to keep up with him,
and finally demanded curiously, "What's the matter?" without, however,
receiving any answer.
"What's the matter?" echoed Maria, falling behind after a futile effort to
keep up, Paolo slackened his pace with a laconic "Wait and see," that was
even more mystifying.
On reaching the Piazza, his manner showed still greater excitement.
"Venite!" [Footnote: "come here"] he exclaimed, leading the way to a small
shed back of the church where he was accustomed to keep his tools.
"Venite!" he repeated, entering by a rear into the gloomy interior.
It was several moments before the eyes of the children became sufficiently
accustomed to the dim light to really see what was being pointed out. High
above their heads was a small window, close to which had been placed a
wooden box.
The old man stopped a moment, listened, reached up his hand, then drew it
back with an air of satisfaction, while the youngsters, fascinated, watched
without in the least surmising what it was all about.
With a finger on his lips to enjoin silence, he suddenly seized Andrea and
raised him to the level of the window ledge.
"There!" he cried, "don't be afraid. Put your hand into the box."
As the boy timidly obeyed, he went on, "Now tell me, what do you feel?
Speak!"
The frightened look on Andrea's face gave way, first to one of
mystification, then to an expression of joy as his hand touched something
warm:
"L'uccello!" [Footnote: The bird.] he cried; then, in an ecstasy of
delight, "Is it mine?"
Paolo nodded, and, after putting the boy down on the floor, gently lifted
Maria so that she, too, might put her fingers into the nest he had made for
the fledgling he had found on the pavement the evening before.
"It's a baby pigeon," she softly murmured.
"Si! Si!" the old caretaker declared, delighted at the sensation he had
caused, "I came across him all huddled up by yonder column."
"And may I really have him?" queried Andrea, finding it hard to realize
that he had gained his heart's desire.
"Why not? I doubt if the old birds will even notice he has gone. You
know when the mother has other eggs to take her attention, she gives the
fledglings into the care of the father bird, and it isn't very long before
he pushes them out to shift for themselves. There is no reason why this
particular one should not belong to you: in fact, I imagine he's a bit
lonesome in this strange place, though, to be sure, I did all I could to
make him comfortable, with a wisp of hay and a few dried sticks, but, at
best, I'm not much of a nest-maker. Come now, would you like to have a look
at him?"
"Si! Si!" the children cried together. And with that Paolo, after lighting
a bit of discarded candle and giving it to Andrea to hold, stretched up and
took the pigeon from the nest.
In the flickering light the children bent lovingly over the little
fluttering thing in the old man's hand; they had never before seen a young
bird at such close range and they looked with wonder at the soft, shapeless
body, the big eyes, the ugly bill, wide open in insistent demand for food.
"May I give him a crumb to eat?" asked Andrea in an odd tone.
"Si," was the ready assent; "I expect he's hungry enough, with no one to
wait on him. By the way, did you ever see a baby pigeon fed?"
The children shook their heads and listened most eagerly as the old man
went on:
"This is a matter in which both father and mother take a hand, and the
first food is a liquid secreted in their crops and called 'pigeons' milk.'
When mealtime comes, the parents open wide their beaks, the little birds
thrust in their bills, and the fun begins. I tell you it takes a great deal
of effort and bobbing of heads for Baby Pigeon to get a satisfactory meal."
"How can we--ever--feed him?" Andrea anxiously interrupted, as if he felt
that his charge might prove somewhat of a responsibility.
"Don't worry," was the comforting response as Paolo nodded his wise old
head; "he may not be able to shift for himself, but I am willing to wager
he will manage to eat whatever you offer him. You see this particular
kind of infant food only lasts a few days; after that the milk gradually
thickens and becomes mixed with bits of grain. Almost before he knows
it, Baby Pigeon is independent of his parents and eats quite as if fully
grown."
With that the old caretaker held out a piece of cracked wheat to the
fledgling who devoured it greedily and opened his beak for more.
The children laughed aloud and clapped their hands in glee, continuing
to feed him until Paolo declared the bird had had a royal breakfast and
carefully replaced him in the nest.
Then, with Andrea on one side and Maria holding tightly to the other hand,
he led them out of the shed and into the bright sunshine.
They stopped for a moment under the window for a lingering glance upward
while Paolo called their attention to the dry-goods box he had placed on
end for their special convenience.
"By standing on this," he explained, "you can get on a level with the nest
without being dependent on me."
All the morning the children hung around the shed, delighted when there
was an occasional sound from the nest above, and from time to time they
clambered up to whisper soft nothings to the sharp ears of Baby Pigeon.
At noon, when eating their luncheon, they plied the old caretaker with
questions some of which, it must be confessed, taxed all his ingenuity to
answer satisfactorily.
"How long will it be before I can begin to train him?" interrupted Andrea,
on fire with his desire at once to realize his ambition.
Paolo laughed. "One question at a time. I notice some soft down already
beginning to show, so I fancy it will not be many weeks until he can boast
as much in the way of fine clothes as his own father and mother. As for his
training, it's quite too soon to think of that; so, my boy, you will have
to possess your soul in patience for a while longer. By the way, your bird
should have a name. Have you any in mind?"
"Not yet, although I've been thinking about that very thing," Andrea
answered meditatively; "no name seems good enough."
"I think 'bambino' would be nice," suggested Maria; "he's such a darling
baby."
"Si, but he will soon be grown up" put in Andrea; "I was wondering how
Marco would do."
"Well, I don't say it wouldn't do," Paolo answered reflectively; "but it
seems to me something like 'caro' or 'amato' [Footnote: Dear--beloved]
might be appropriate for such a pet."
Andrea shook his head. And, after again racking his brain in an effort to
suggest a really appropriate name, the old man finally slapped his hand on
his side:
"It just comes to me this instant, something I heard one of those touristas
call a little curly dog by. At the time it occurred to me that it sounded
more like a name for a pigeon."
"What was it?" Andrea inquired eagerly.
"Chico," Paolo answered, lingering on the first syllable, exactly as the
tourista had done--"Chee-ko."
Andrea was charmed, agreeing that there was something about it that seemed
to suit a saucy pigeon, and, vastly pleased, he repeated over and over,
"Chico, Chico," while Maria echoed softly "Chee-ko."