ago, between the Venetians and the Genoese, it is now known chiefly as a
fishing village and a picturesque spot where artists love to congregate.

On leaving the steamer the old man, not wishing to attract attention,
avoided the broad street, with its arcades and cafes, instead picking his
way along the canal, packed with fishing craft of every description, until
he to a superb white bridge, the pride of the little town.

There he paused, and thinking himself quite away from inquisitive
spectators, loosed the bird and stood a few moments watching him speeding
his way above the beautiful white arch towards home.

How strong were the graceful wings, and how steady the flight!

It was a warm day in early spring; he threw himself on the bank of the
canal grass thinking how pleasant it was on the water's edge. Suddenly a
voice sounded in his ears causing him to start visibly:

"Surely, it must be a pleasant occupation to be a pigeon fancier."

The tone was ingratiating, but resenting the intrusion, Paolo looked
around and caught an expression that belied the smooth words, and made him
instinctively distrust the stranger who had accosted him.

He did not answer, and the man pursued: "No wonder, when you have so fine a
bird. May I ask for what particular purpose you are training him?"

"Only for a boy's pleasure," was the short reply. Paolo immediately
surmised that this was he of whom Andrea had told him.