gazing reverently at the great altar front of silver gilt.

After a little, hand in hand, they would scamper out into the bright
sunshine where they never tired of the many wonderful objects that make St.
Mark's Square a fairyland for young and old alike.

"'Roglo!" little Maria would cry, as she pointed upward to the great clock
with its dial of blue and gold. It was the nearest she could come to
pronouncing "orologio," the Italian word for clock. Then she would listen
as hard as ever she could, hoping the bronze figures would strike the hour
on the bell.

But Andrea loved best the horses that stood above the entrance of the
church. In his little soul he almost worshiped the fiery steeds and loved
to fancy himself seated on their backs. He even went so far as to plan to
scale the wall in order to satisfy his ambition.

"Sometime, I will do it," he used to say, as he struck a determined
attitude, and Maria would look at him with adoring eyes. How venturesome he
was! He was taller than she by half a head, and his added two years gave
him a place in dignity far above her.

It was no wonder the boy should be so crazy over the great bronze steeds
when one remembers that Venice is practically horseless and that they were
almost the only ones he had ever seen.

Perchance, even, as they talked, they would hear the flutter of wings, and
some half-dozen pigeons, with soft coos, would light on their shoulders.
Then Maria would laugh aloud with delight, and Andrea would forget his wild
dreams as they stroked the glossy wings and admired the bright eyes, all