Notice the mooring-posts and the black gondola. " title="" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}img"/> The Grand Canal, Venice
Notice the mooring-posts and the black gondola.

It was on this summer evening that Rafael Valla, a Venetian lad of fourteen, decided to become a soldier of the king.

He was sitting in the water-gate of his mother's house, pointing with his toe to the reflection in the canal of a particularly large and brilliant star. "If the starlight moves to the right of my toe," he said to himself, "I will go to the Piazza."

He knew perfectly well that he would go to the Piazza. The music of the band was calling to him, and the star was slowly shifting its light, as it had done on many a night while Rafael sat waiting and dreaming in the gateway.

The tide was gently pulling his little boat away from the orange-and-black mooring-post, at the foot of the steps, toward the larger canal.

"Perhaps my boat knows of all the gay sights that are waiting for it in the Grand Canal," the boy thought idly. "It may well know," he added in his thought; "it has been there times enough."

The Grand Canal is the largest and finest of all the water-ways which thread the city. It is spanned by three beautiful bridges, and, on either side, rise the marble palaces of the ancient Venetian nobility; those rulers of men whose names fill the "Golden Book of Venetian History."

But Rafael lingered in the gateway. The music of the band was a promise of something still better. Soon hundreds of gondolas would gather at the bridge of the Rialto to hear the songs of the serenaders, and that was what the boy loved best.

As the bells in the square sounded the hour, he rose, reached for the rope, and pulled his boat toward the stone landing steps. His motions were alert and decisive, and made him seem a different boy from the one who had been leaning so carelessly against the post of the gateway.

Rafael was good friends with his oar, and the little boat, which was only large enough to seat three comfortably, hurried gladly toward the lights of the Grand Canal, and the music in the beautiful Piazza of St. Mark.

Hundreds of black gondolas were moving up and down the canals, manned by boatmen in white linen, for the night was very warm; and a melody from an Italian opera, sung in a musical tenor voice, floated from one of the boats.

"I, also, would sing, if it were not pleasanter to listen," said Rafael to his boat. Then it occurred to him that it might be most pleasant of all to find his friend Nicolo and take him to hear the singers at the Rialto bridge.

He turned toward the steps of the Piazzetta, murmuring as he did so, "These other boats are also moving toward the Rialto. I must find Nicolo quickly, or we shall lose our favorite place at the bridge."

The boy tied his boat in the shadow of the steps, and took his way across the small square into the larger one in front of the Cathedral of St. Mark.

Numberless columns and pillars surround this square, and each one was outlined with twinkling golden lights. From every ornament and statue that grace the cathedral and palaces shone countless numbers of the fairy flames. The crimson globes of the larger lamps in the square added a different tone, and the silver light of the moon blended with the whole, dazzling Rafael with the brilliancy.

He shaded his eyes from the glare, as he searched rapidly among the crowds for his friend. The polished stones of the pavement in front of the cafés were covered with little tables, and hundreds of people were sipping ices or drinking coffee.

Nicolo was often to be found selling trinkets among the people at the tables, but he was not there to-night. Nor was he seated on the back of one of the two stone lions that crouch on their pedestals just beyond the cathedral.

It is from these convenient seats that the band sounds better than almost anywhere else in the square. At least, the boys of Venice seem to find it so, and so many years have they climbed up to watch the crowds of people in the Piazza of St. Mark, that the backs of the lions are worn smooth with much rubbing.

A little bootblack and a water-boy held the places now, and occasionally begged for custom from any one who happened to linger near.

Passing in and out among the crowds were pretty young girls selling flowers, ragged boys carrying trays of fruit—crimson peaches, purple grapes and ripe figs—and men selling bracelets and necklaces of shells and colored beads.

It was a gay scene. An officer, in the naval uniform of the United States of America, stood in the central doorway of the cathedral, watching the movements of the crowd and listening to the music.

As Rafael gave up trying to find Nicolo and turned toward the canal, the officer left his place and followed the boy. "Where away?" he asked pleasantly, in English, as Rafael took his seat in the boat.

"To the Rialto; to hear the serenade, Signore," the boy replied courteously, also in English; and would have pushed away from the steps, but the stranger asked, "Will you take a passenger?"

"Si, Signore," answered Rafael, "I have been looking for one," and he held the boat still while the officer found a seat.

CHAPTER II

VIVA L'ITALIA!

"Do you like our lovely Venice?" Rafael asked, as the boat slipped away with oar and tide toward the bridge.

"Not well enough to stay here forever," answered the man, with a smile.

The boy opened his eyes in surprise. How could any one wish to leave the city after once seeing it! As for himself, he adored the place. To slip with his boat in and out of the canals and the lagoon, to dive from the steps and bridges and chase the other boys through the water, to listen to the music in the Piazza at night, seemed to him the only life worth living.

But the stranger was speaking again. "I could have been happy here centuries ago, when the city was in the making," he said. "It would have been glorious to fight for the right to live on these islands, and to have a hand in building such palaces and churches. Those were days of service for the men who loved their city."

Rafael knew well the history of Venice. As the officer spoke, the boy's eyes turned to the stately walls of the Doge's palace, and to the domes of the great churches; and he thought of the early Venetians who gave their lives in loving service for their country.

The stranger continued, "Your good Doge Dandolo had a powerful navy when he led the Venetians across the Mediterranean to conquer the islands of Candia and Cyprus."

Rafael nodded. "Si, Signore," he said. "There were many at home who held the city safe while he was away," he added, "and there was need enough of brave men then, both at home and abroad."

"Venice was a rich and powerful state in those days," said the stranger. "Now she has little left but her beauty, and that will fall to ruin, as the great bell-tower in the Piazza fell not long ago. A man likes to fight for something more than beauty."

Rafael nodded again. He liked this stranger who spoke so easily of the early life of Venice.

Just then the boat slipped into a nook under the bridge, where it was safe from the sweep of the gondolas which crowded near, and the two became silent in watching the approach of the barge filled with musicians and singers.

This barge was surrounded by a solid mass of gondolas, closely wedged together, each gondolier trying to push his boat as close as possible, so that his patrons might see and hear well.

Suddenly red lights