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.
"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."