of bright beads, Paolo came to a more secluded quarter. Here he stopped,
and, with careful deliberation, lifted the cover of the basket, saying as
he laid his hand affectionately on Chico's glossy head, "Now fly, my bird,
straight to your house!"

Without a moment's delay Chico was out of his prison and with a quick,
spiral curve had soared into the blue Venetian sky. Pausing for an
imperceptible instant, as though in search of some familiar object, he was
off in the direction of St. Mark's Square.

In the meantime Andrea and Maria waited impatiently enough. They knew it
would take time for Paolo to reach his destination, for the old man's steps
were not as quick as they had once been. And then the awful thought would
come that Chico might not fly straight home--might be beguiled elsewhere
for some reason.

Full well Andrea knew how much depended upon this first flight.

Just as the figures on the great clock struck the hour of ten there was a
whirr of wings. An arrow of silver shot through the air, and in another
instant Chico was in his nest.

"Urra! Urra!" the boy shouted, throwing his cap into the air; then
boisterously seizing his pet, "You did it, you did it! Chico, old bird! My,
but I'm proud of you!" Then remembering that Paolo had said there would be
a message concealed about the bird's leg, his hand felt for the closely
wound bit of tissue paper, and tense with excitement he shouted aloud
Chico's first message:

"Evviva Italia!" [Footnote: Long live Italy!]