himself with holding the basket close to his cheek and murmuring soft words
into the responsive ears of the prisoner.

So Paolo found him. Andrea started guiltily as the old caretaker stepped in
the door, but drew himself up proudly at the sharp inquiry:

"Is it possible that you are feeding Chico?"

"No," was the quick reply, "I am only talking to him. Surely there isn't
any harm in that!"

"No harm at all," the old man answered; "and now I propose to take him to
the Rialto and there give him his freedom, while you wait here and see
if he knows enough to come home. Notice the time by the big clock; if he
returns promptly, you may reward him with a good breakfast and plenty of
water to drink, for he will be thirsty."

Andrea's face lighted up with joy. He had a pocket full of choice morsels,
and, with a happy face, watched Paolo set out, carefully holding the basket
with its precious load, while he and Maria settled themselves to await
developments.

The Rialto is one of the busiest spots in all Venice; especially is it
so at this time in the morning, for hither come the black boats from the
island laden with fruits and vegetables to provision the city. On
every side, amid the jostling throngs of people, one sees mountains of
watermelons, piles of garlic, old scows and worn-out gondolas, heaped with
all manner of strange-looking fish. Crossing over the bridge to the end
where the jewelers have their shops, and elbowing through the crowd of
young girls and matrons, with their gay-colored handkerchiefs and strands