"COO-OO, COO-OO-OO. RUK-AT-A-COO"
There was no denying the fact that Chico was a handsome bird, and as time
passed, he became more and more careful of his appearance. He would spend
fully half an hour each morning over his toilet, smoothing every feather
into place with the most exact nicety, polishing his delicately arched
bill, and proudly spreading his tail. Then, when the sun shone full upon
him, the peculiar markings of his wings seemed fairly radiant in their
glorious iridescence.
From the saucy tilt of his dainty head to his graceful feet, he was a Beau
Brummel among pigeons.
It was no wonder that his little master's heart swelled with pride, and
that he repeated, over and over again, "My Chico is grande; my Chico
is--GREAT!"
But there came a time when it was evident that, in spite of the gorgeous
appearance he presented, he was not altogether happy.
While he polished his beak and preened his feathers more assiduously than
ever, there was a note of pleading in his cooing that puzzled the children,
and caused Andrea to remark: "I wonder what can be the matter with Chico!"
In reply Paolo nodded his wise old head and answered, with a touch of
sympathy, "I know--he's lonely, and wants a mate." The old man even went so
far as to select a dainty little lady pigeon and place her on the ledge,
but alas! Chico resented what he evidently considered an intrusion,
retreated to the extreme edge, where he looked askance at his companion,
and refused, to be moved by her modest advances. Not a single "coo" would
he give, and to his everlasting disgrace finally gently but firmly pushed
her off the ledge. It was plain she had no charms for him! After one or two
further attempts, which ended in the same way, Paolo gave up and allowed
Chico to manage his own courting.
When his gentle, beseeching cooing failed to attract, he resorted to bolder
methods, flying about the Square, and lingering longer than was his wont
among neighboring nests, until he chanced upon a pigeon that took his
fancy.
She was a modest little thing, soft drab in color, and not as strikingly
marked as he, but she was popular with the birds about, and Chico had to
fight one or two lusty rivals before he won her for himself.
The children watched it all with fascinated interest, and when one morning
they found her by his side on the ledge outside his nest, they were fairly
beside themselves with delight.
All day long they perched together, billing and cooing to their hearts'
content, "the prettiest sight in Venice," as all agreed who saw them.
"Coo-oo," he would begin, and she would answer softly. Then they would join
in "Coo-oos coo-oo-oo. Ruk-at-a-coo, coo-oo."
Sometimes he would playfully ruffle her feathers, and she would respond by
turning to him so coquettishly that they would touch their bills together,
so the hours would as they billed and cooed in their love-making.
It was Maria who named the dainty little mate, calling her Pepita, from the
first time she saw her by Chico's side. But it was Paolo who declared he
could give a pretty good guess as to what they were saying to each other in
their soft pigeon language.
"Well, what is it?" Andrea asked incredulously.
"She wants him to help her fix up the old nest," he asserted in a tone
of confidence that greatly impressed his audience; "like the rest of the
women-folks, she isn't satisfied with it as it is, I don't know as I blame
her--it's a pretty poor excuse for a home, even if Chico did manage to make
it do while he was a bachelor."
The children's faith in the old man increased tenfold when, the very next
day, they discovered Pepita returning from a short flight with a few coarse
straws in her beak, while in another moment Chico came flying around the
corner of the church with half a dozen more.
"You were right!" Andrea exclaimed, as he made an effort to restrain his
boisterous delight, and quietly looked in at the busy pair; "they are
working as hard as ever they can this very minute."
After that there were more straws brought, besides other things evidently
intended for lining, and though their home, when done, was not as smooth or
fine a piece of workmanship as many other birds can boast of, at least it
was comfortable, and exactly according to their ideas.
Chico had always loved his nest, but, with the appearance of two eggs under
Pepita's breast, he found it difficult to leave, even on necessary flights.
He was a devoted husband and was content to perch by her side the whole day
long, softly cooing in his efforts to entertain her, and always ready to
relieve her in keeping the eggs warm when she wished to take a turn around
the Square for exercise or in search of food.
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.
"He'll be all out of practice," he mourned, "and the next time we try him
he'll forget and lose his way home."
But Paolo was reassuring. "Never you fear," he replied; "I have heard that
the most important messages are entrusted to birds that have young in the
nest. That is when the love of home is strongest."
And so it proved: when Chico was once more tried, he surprised them by the
swiftness of his flight. In fact, in some instances he actually made more
than thirty miles an hour.
The spring advanced: there were other eggs in the nest, and other broods
to be cared for, and always Chico remained the faithful husband and
father--tender to his fledgling offspring--loving and true to his little
wife.
And, whenever household cares permitted, the two could be seen on the
window ledge, billing and cooing:
"Coo-oo, coo-oo-oo, Ruk-at-a-coo."