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.