to suit a saucy pigeon, and, vastly pleased, he repeated over and over,
"Chico, Chico," while Maria echoed softly "Chee-ko."




CHAPTER V

THE MEANEST CAT IN VENICE


It is hard to imagine a more forlorn experience in the life of a young bird
than to be suddenly pushed from the nest and find himself alone on a hard
pavement. It is bad enough when it happens as the result of premeditation
on the part of an unfeeling parent who has made up his mind that his
offspring are quite able to shift for themselves, but, when it occurs from
accident, it is nothing short of tragic.

Poor Chico, this was what had happened to him, and he had huddled,
shivering, close to the column of St. Theodore and tried in vain to reason
everything out in his pigeon mind. Many things had happened of late that he
had not been able to understand. His mother, hitherto most attentive to his
sister and himself, had suddenly ceased feeding them with the nice soft
food they loved so well, at the same time refusing to cuddle them under her
warm breast.

He remembered vaguely hearing her impatiently coo to his father, that _he_
would have to look out for the fledglings, her duty was to the eggs. At the
time he hadn't understood what she meant by eggs, although once or twice he
had caught a glimpse of two white oval things under her breast which she