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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fil and Filippa
+       Story of Child Life in the Philippines
+
+Author: John Stuart Thomson
+
+Illustrator: Maud Petersham
+             Miska Petersham
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2008 [EBook #26414]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIL AND FILIPPA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        Fil and Filippa
+
+                      Story of Child Life
+                       in the Philippines
+
+
+                               By
+
+                      John Stuart Thomson
+
+                           Author of
+                     "China Revolutionized"
+                         "The Chinese"
+                     "Bud and Bamboo" Etc.
+
+                        Illustrations by
+
+                    Maud and Miska Petersham
+
+
+               The Macmillan Company, Publishers
+
+                        New York MCMXXIX
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        Copyright, 1917,
+                   By the Macmillan Company.
+
+      Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1917.
+
+            PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                 DEDICATED TO MY LITTLE FRIEND
+
+                         FRANCIS DORIS
+
+                         BY THE AUTHOR
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    Chapter
+
+    I.        Names.
+    II.       Climate, Typhoons, Volcano
+    III.      At Worship
+    IV.       Houses
+    V.        Cocoa and Coffee
+    VI.       Hemp and Sugar
+    VII.      The Coconut
+    VIII.     Indigo; Mango; Guava; Durian
+    IX.       The Forest
+    X.        Minerals
+    XI.       Water Buffalo
+    XII.      Bats; Cattle; Horses; Cats; Monkeys
+    XIII.     Flying Ants; Locusts
+    XIV.      Boats and Fish
+    XV.       Saw Mill; Mudsleighs; Wooden Plows
+    XVI.      Umbrellas; Chairs; Milk-bottle; Milkman
+    XVII.     Home Life
+    XVIII.    Dress
+    XIX.      The "Adios" Feast
+
+
+
+
+PERSONS
+
+
+    Fil, a Filipino boy.
+    Filippa, his sister.
+    Favra, her playmate.
+    Moro, Fil's playmate, a Mohammedan.
+    Fil's Father.
+    Fil's Mother.
+    The Padre-priest.
+    The Guest.
+    Driver of the Water Buffalo Cart.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FIL AND FILIPPA
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+NAMES
+
+
+It took me over a month and a half to reach the summer islands that
+I sought. In three weeks I had gone through the Panama Canal and
+had reached San Francisco, and in four weeks more I had crossed the
+world's widest, most peaceful, and bluest ocean, the Pacific.
+
+There, like a string of pearls hanging from the golden Equator,
+I found thousands of wonderful islands of all sizes, but only two
+of them are very large. I found also my new and kind young friends:
+Fil; his sister Filippa; Fil's boy playmate named Moro, who came
+from the large southern island; their parents and friends; and the
+good Padre. Each one of them was shorter and darker than I. Yet they
+said to me: "The Stars and Stripes, now our flag also, makes us all
+American brothers, which we will be always."
+
+"But how is it that you are called Filipinos, and live in the
+Philippine Islands?" I asked.
+
+Fil smiled and said: "Though I believe you know without asking me,
+I shall tell you to show that I know our romantic and interesting
+history.
+
+"Hundreds of years ago, many years before America became a nation,
+the roving Spaniards discovered these islands, and named them the
+Philip-pines, in honor of their king Philip. When the American Admiral
+Dewey won these islands from Spain, our name was not changed.
+
+"And our Christian names of Fil and Filippa have the same sound,
+and almost the same meaning, as Philippines," added Filippa, her
+eyes smiling from under her cloud of beautiful hair,--hair longer and
+richer than an American girl's hair,--and eyes darker and deeper than
+an American girl's eyes. Perhaps her brows were a little bit flatter,
+and her nose was a little bit shorter and wider, than ours; but still
+she was pretty, especially when she smiled, for she had beautiful
+white teeth.
+
+Then I turned to Fil's playmate, Moro, and asked him what his rolling
+name could mean. Moro was even more eager and darker than Fil. He
+replied, as he bravely touched his toy sword:
+
+"I, too, am of the Malay race, but of a different religion from Fil. I
+am a Mohammedan; that is, I reverence the same prophets whom the Turks
+worship. I come from the southern islands of the Philippines. There we
+spend most of our time roving in boats, and hunting over the hills. The
+first white man who met us saw that we were as dark, and had the same
+religion, as the tribes of Morocco in Africa. That perhaps is why I am
+called Moro, the Mohammedan, whose father fears no man; nor shall I,
+when I grow up."
+
+"But we are all friends now under a new, friendly flag; and we preach
+and practice love, instead of fear and fighting," I replied.
+
+Filippa looked upon me with very happy eyes, when I said this; for a
+girl seems to know wiser ways of settling quarrels than do boys. A boy
+becomes excited; a girl thinks longer and acts more slowly. Certainly,
+Filippa's gentle ways and the expression in her wonderfully deep eyes
+had more power with Fil and Moro than would strife and force.
+
+"Every name seems to have a pretty meaning in your Edenlike
+Philippines," I remarked to Filippa's playmate, Favra.
+
+"Yes," she replied, "the Padre (pa'drai), our pastor or cleric,
+who knows so much, tells me that my name means the friendly one who
+does favors."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CLIMATE, TYPHOONS, VOLCANO
+
+
+Next day I met the Padre. He was seated on a cane chair under a clump
+of whispering bamboos, which are giant grasses as tall and as strong
+as trees.
+
+We had hardly exchanged morning greetings, by saying "Buenos dias
+(boo ai'nos de'as)," before we heard the children running along the
+white shell path, between the parklike tropical woods.
+
+"Every one awakens early in this wonderful climate, yet no one seems
+to be fully awake," I said.
+
+The good Padre replied: "We are situated so near the Equator that
+the sun rises into full and bright daylight at once."
+
+"I seem to half dream all day. Is it the balmy warm air, or the scents
+of new flowers, or the equatorial sun?" I asked.
+
+The Padre explained it by saying: "The sun throws more direct rays
+here; and they pierce through thin hats, and especially through black
+clothes. It is best to wear thick, white paper helmets. Moreover,
+our climate is more damp than is America's climate.
+
+"That is why you feel somewhat dreamy; and that is why everything in
+Nature, such as trees, fruits, flowers, ferns, and even animals and
+birds, grow so richly; and why the flowers shed influences and perfumes
+on the air. It all appeals to the warmth, color, and dreaminess in
+your happy imagination.
+
+"You think of stories of Eden or Paradise perhaps, where one imagines
+no hard winter, no bare trees or lawns, no whiteness. Everything is
+more beautiful to look upon here. The birds and winds and rains drop
+seeds; and at once lavish plants grow up. You will soon become used to
+our warmer climate, because you will need to eat less meat and butter,
+which is the fuel that keeps you warm. Instead you will eat more rice
+and fruit, which will give you strength, without heating you."
+
+At this moment, our little friend Moro pursed out his cheek and made
+a sound like a howling siren or a storm.
+
+"That noise reminds me of your awful typhoons. I passed through one of
+those whirling storms, just as I approached these islands of beauty,"
+I exclaimed. "Can you explain that great wonder?" I asked.
+
+"It is God, the Creator's, magnificent but terrible act, such as you
+read about in the Book of Job or in the Psalms," said the Padre, who
+crossed himself and bowed in piety. The good children, except Moro,
+all made the holy sign.
+
+Then the wise Padre continued: "Like great characters, for a long
+time gentle,--like peace which has covered the earth for years,--so,
+in our still, summer seas, suddenly in September, everything seems to
+contradict and be in rebellion, with a force unknown and unexpected
+before,--a force all the greater, because it was accumulating quietly
+for many months.
+
+"The heat becomes unbearable. The winds arise and sweep all one way,
+for a time. Then comes the black rain. The heavy typhoon soon begins
+to howl and to turn in a circle for two or three days. The wheeling
+storm moves from place to place, and finally dies down at sea."
+
+Filippa inquired: "Why is such a circular storm of the Oriental
+tropics, called a typhoon?"
+
+The Padre explained: "It is a word that we have taken from the
+Chinese, who live not many hours away from us, across the water to the
+northwest. 'Tai' means great. 'Fung' or 'phoon,' means a wind. These
+storms sweep all the way from the Philippine Islands, across the seas
+to China. We like the expressive word which the Chinese have given
+these wind storms."
+
+"We have another natural wonder here, the volcano," said Favra.
+
+"Yes," replied the Padre, "the Taal (Tä'al) and Mayon (Mä y[+o]n')
+volcanoes once were smoking and fiery mountains, shaped like a
+cone. Years ago fire and lava, which is molten rock that has cooled,
+poured from their hot, pointed tops, ran down the sides, and destroyed
+everything in their path."
+
+"What is lava?" asked Fil.
+
+The Padre replied: "Even a volcano produces some good. This melted
+rock, when it becomes cold, forms a light, porous stone, which is
+used for polishing. You use it in your bathroom, to rub ink off your
+hands. Lava stone is easily ground into powder. When mixed with soap,
+this ground lava becomes a useful cleaning and polishing powder."
+
+"Nature is always useful, as well as grand and beautiful," remarked
+Fil's father, who, dressed in a white silk suit and abacá hat, had
+just then come up the path.
+
+"Where did you get that hat?" I laughingly asked Fil's father.
+
+"I'll tell you some other time. It is made from reeds, woven under
+water to keep them damp and pliant. The hat, therefore, is light,
+durable, and cool," he replied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+AT WORSHIP
+
+
+When I arose next day and walked to the usual morning seat under the
+bamboos, I found only Moro there.
+
+"Where is everybody else?" I asked.
+
+"At the Iglesia (ig lai se'a)," replied Moro.
+
+I knew iglesia was the Philippine word for church; so I said to Moro:
+"Let us go there too, and see what they are all doing."
+
+After we had walked along the white shell paths, past the swaying
+fisher boats, over an ancient stone bridge, beneath tall palms
+and hanging vines and thick bananas, we beheld a wonderfully carved
+doorway, with statues in the niches. Over the tree tops, rose a noble
+white dome. From the open windows, the sweet singing of sacred music
+came to our ears. It was the well-known Mass or communion music of
+our own land, consisting of the beautiful strains of the Gloria, the
+Sanctus, and the Benedictus. As we came nearer, the breeze wafted
+us sweet incense from the altar, sandal and spice and flower and
+cinnamon scents.
+
+Though Moro was of a different faith, he took off his hat; so did
+I. The short Filipino men were dressed in white. The sweet-looking
+Filipino women were dressed in wide-striped skirts, and white waists,
+with very large collars starched stiff. Over their heads were large
+lace shawls called mantillas. They wore no hats, for they were very
+proud to show their fine long hair, filled with gold and jeweled pins.
+
+Every one dipped a finger in the water which was placed in a huge
+shell near the door. Then they bowed before the cross on the altar,
+which was shining at the end of the long aisle.
+
+In the front seats, under the high dome, we could see Filippa, her
+parents, and Favra. The colored light from the stained glass windows
+fell down in rays and clouds of beauty upon the altar boys, who wore
+robes of purple and white lace.
+
+The music of the blue and gold organ was subdued to a velvet
+whisper. Suddenly a boy arose behind the carved benches of the
+choir. He sang in a voice as clear as a bird's:
+
+
+    "Come, Holy Spirit, Come."
+
+
+It was Fil who was singing. The censers were swinging. The organ began
+to drown even Fil's clear voice. Then all the singers in the choir
+arose and filled the great dome, the long cathedral aisles, and even
+the palm grove outside the windows, with a great burst of sacred music:
+
+
+    "Holy, Holy is the Lord."
+
+
+It was all very solemn and very sweet. Far richer than in the homeland,
+seemed the music, because of the greater natural beauty of the tropics.
+
+Then our good friend, the Padre, arose, and spoke to his people,
+about charity and missions and peace and the stranger within the
+doors. He spoke so kindly that we all regretted war, and even hated
+the name of war. He asked us to give gifts for the wounded and the
+poor in other sad, colder, harder lands of hate and evil.
+
+Then he extended his hands. A great blessing seemed to flow down from
+the pulpit and even from the walls of the holy temple of peace, where
+the white altar, the golden cross, and the colored windows shone out
+as signs of purity and love.
+
+When the service was dismissed, we all walked home together.
+
+"When are you going to be a Christian, little Moro?" inquired the
+kind Padre.
+
+"I am a Mohammedan. My people come from the southern Philippines. We
+worship one God, and Mohammed is his prophet. We make converts by
+the sword of force, rather than by preaching," replied Moro, his eyes
+looking strange and brave.
+
+"Tell me more about your religion. I have heard it is peculiar,"
+said Filippa.
+
+"When we pray, we face Mecca, instead of Jerusalem or Rome. At Mecca
+in Arabia is the Holy Book, which we call the Koran. There, also,
+is the birthplace of Mohammed, our prophet. We believe in troops of
+angels above, as well as in 'jinns,' or spirits, on earth, who are
+ready to help us. We have no altars in our mosques or churches.
+
+"Our mosques are immense, plain structures, with only large Arabic
+letters of texts, painted on the walls and ceiling. Five times a day,
+the Muezzin priest mounts the outside of the mosque tower, and calls
+the faithful to prayer. Each Mohammedan carries his own praying
+mat. After placing it on the tile floor beneath the thin pillars,
+he kneels and bows upon his mat, facing Mecca, where our prophet was
+born. We do not use music or organs."
+
+All this Moro explained to us. What he told about his religion was
+very different, very interesting, very new.
+
+"There are good things in your religion," said the kind Padre, as he
+placed his hand gently on Moro's dark head.
+
+"You despise the use of intoxicating liquor. You teach the duty of
+giving alms and of being charitable to the poor, the unfortunate, and
+the sick. You teach that every one is his brother's keeper, and should
+help his brother to succeed in life. You teach that cleanliness and
+plain living are almost a part of religion. And we Christians agree
+with you, Moro, in all these grand ideas; for I think that, with
+all the sorrow now in the world, some of us have been too selfish,
+too luxurious, as though we thought we would live forever, and had
+no duty except to ourselves."
+
+I, too, felt conscience-stricken for my homeland and for myself,
+when I heard, in this odd and different quarter of our large world,
+the Filipino Padre's true but kind moralizing over Moro's different
+religion.
+
+"The bells! Oh, the silver-sweet bells!" exclaimed Filippa's mother.
+
+"The bells of love and peace," replied the Padre, as he glanced back
+at the twin towers of his white Iglesia (church) that shone over the
+grove of coconut palms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+HOUSES
+
+
+"What odd homes! toy houses toppling over from their stilts!" I
+exclaimed, as we passed a remarkable village. All the buildings were
+set up on poles, and had ladders for their dwellers to climb up to
+the high doors. The houses looked as though the lower story had been
+washed away, and only the second story remained. Over each window and
+door projected a very neat eyebrow, so to speak, either to shed rain
+or to keep out the sun.
+
+"That is our famous nipa-thatch house used by the original Filipinos,"
+said Moro. "I can explain all about it, for all Moros, and many
+backward tribes, use these houses."
+
+"Tell me everything," I urged.
+
+"First," said Moro, "there is not one nail in a nipa-thatch
+house. Perched high in the air on poles, as it is, you perhaps would
+think our typhoons would blow it over, just like a light bandbox."
+
+"So I would think," I replied.
+
+"Well," laughed bright Moro, "let me ask you a question. What makes
+a pole snap before the rush of a storm? What makes a brick wall give
+way before a sudden wind? And why does a tree or a reed bear the
+storm easily?"
+
+"Because the tree and the reed are elastic enough to give a little,--to
+bend instead of breaking," I answered.
+
+"That is just it," again laughed my little Master Moro. "Our small nipa
+hut, high in the air, sways a little, but rides out the storm. Every
+pole, every beam, and every rafter of the frame, is all made of hollow
+bamboo. Bamboo is stronger than steel, because it bends and gives,
+and then springs back. There is no nail in the house. Every crosspiece
+is tied with rattan, the same vine with which you make cane chairs;
+so you know how strong and elastic it is."
+
+"And of what are the sloping roofs and the side walls made?" I
+inquired.
+
+"Of the famous nipa palm," Moro replied. "It grows in swamps, often
+near the sea. It looks like a gigantic fern. Its wide leaves we lap
+one over another, and tie them to the bamboo frame by withes of tough
+cogon grass."
+
+"Are you not afraid of fire?" I asked.
+
+Moro frankly said: "Yes, but as our house is so cheap, we can build a
+new one easily. However, in this warm climate we cook in a separate
+house, and we bathe out of doors. We do not smoke within our nipa
+houses; it is too dangerous."
+
+"Tell our friend from across the purple ocean how we use the bamboo
+and the nipa plants, for other purposes besides building," remarked
+little Fil.
+
+Moro continued: "From the sap of the nipa palm, we distill
+alcohol. From the hollow bamboo we make pipes for carrying water. We
+boil the tender new shoots of bamboo, and eat them like celery. We
+put a stopper into one joint of a hollowed bamboo, and use it for a
+bottle. The pliant bamboo root we make into whips. We make bridges,
+fences, window blinds, furniture, and carriages out of bamboo. We
+even make blow guns and shoot our arrows at birds, through the
+bamboo stalk."
+
+"There are one hundred kinds of bamboo, and a thousand uses for the
+plant," added Filippa.
+
+"I should imagine that the bamboo is the skeleton or the framework,
+and that the nipa is the skin of the Philippine structure," I remarked.
+
+"That is the doctor's way of drawing a figure of speech," laughed
+the Padre.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+COCOA AND COFFEE
+
+
+The next morning Filippa's mother refreshed us all with a cup of
+fragrant cocoa, so that we might begin the day in good spirits. As
+I was sipping it, the Padre remarked in good humor:
+
+"Did you Americans seize the Philippines merely for a cup of cocoa?"
+
+I replied laughingly: "This cup of cocoa is so good, that I certainly
+would try to seize the Philippines for it."
+
+Filippa's mother and father both bowed and said I was complimentary,
+like a diplomat.
+
+Then I continued: "I am glad the Philippines are now ours, and yours
+too, because our money can help to develop the wonderful tropical
+products which do not grow in our colder America. I wish you would
+explain something about cocoa and coffee, which we prize very much
+and which we send our ships a long way to secure."
+
+Fil's father, who was a planter of wide acres, replied:
+
+"The cocoa bean and the coconut are two very different plants. Do not
+confuse them. The cocoa bean, out of which you grind cocoa powder and
+chocolate for a drink, for bonbons, and for puddings, comes out of a
+fruit shaped like a large red cucumber. This fruit grows on a tender
+bush, which must be shaded by a thick banana palm. In each fruit are
+twenty of these seeds, or cocoa beans.
+
+"They have hard skins, and are very bitter and stimulating. When
+eaten, they excite the heart, and thus make a person feel active
+and alive. Soldiers and athletes eat them, to relieve fatigue. As
+soon as the fruit is gathered, the beans must be dried in the sun,
+or be roasted. The cocoa bean is very oily. To make cocoa, the oil is
+extracted, when the beans are ground into a paste. To make chocolate,
+the oil is not extracted."
+
+"I never ate a cocoa bean which was sweet; but a chocolate-drop is
+sweet," said Filippa, who had bought chocolate-drops in the candy
+stores.
+
+Her father explained: "We add sugar and vanilla, to the brown cocoa
+bean paste."
+
+"Just think of practically growing chocolate bonbons on a tree, beneath
+the window of your nipa huts, in these wonderful Philippine Islands,"
+I added, and every one smiled.
+
+"It is really true, when one adds the sugar," remarked the Padre.
+
+"Now tell me please about coffee, also," I begged.
+
+Fil's father continued:
+
+"The coffee comes from another low bush. You choose a hillside,
+for, although the plant likes our heavy rains in the Philippines,
+it does not like to keep its roots long in water. It wants to drain
+them and to feel the warm sun. The leaves are long and glossy; the
+blossoms are waxy white. The fragrance is richer than rose sweetened
+with sugar. The fruit is like a scarlet cherry; each contains two
+seeds. These two seeds are the coffee bean of commerce and of the
+breakfast table. They are ground in a small mill, as you know."
+
+"How were the beans first discovered?" I inquired.
+
+Fil's father smiled and told this story: "One day a shepherd noticed
+that his goats, which had eaten the cherries off a coffee bush,
+danced about in high excitement as though they, instead of their
+master, were going to a fiesta. Then the shepherd ate the berries,
+too, and felt stimulated himself. That is how coffee in time came
+to our breakfast table. Instead of eating the berry, we grind it and
+steep it, and drink the liquor."
+
+"But, father, the seeds are light colored, and not deep brown, when
+you open the fruit," said Fil.
+
+"I know," replied Fil's father. "We roast the seeds in an oven, to get
+rid of the moisture and to preserve and ripen the stimulating oils."
+
+"Thank you all;" I exclaimed, "now I will behold a whole tropical
+story of geography and commerce, every time I look into a grocer's
+window at home."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+HEMP AND SUGAR
+
+
+"However, the richest products of our Philippine Islands are abaca
+(ab'aca) and sugar," said the fatherly Padre next morning, when I
+met him under the shade of the bamboos and the madre trees.
+
+"I am sure you do not know what abacá is," laughed Filippa.
+
+"I guess from its name that it may be a cousin of tobacco; it sounds
+like it: abacá,--tobacco."
+
+"Names are sometimes misleading," replied the Padre. "The manila hemp,
+or abacá plant, is a nearer cousin of the banana palm. You cannot make
+a sail or tie up a bag of potatoes, without using our manila hemp,
+or abacá. It is the strongest fiber known; it does not weaken in
+water. The great hawsers that are used to pull the great ships, are
+made out of it. It all comes from the leaf of this Philippine palm."
+
+"Wonderful and beautiful and useful islands," I confessed. "But how
+do you make a leaf into a cord, a hawser, a sail, or a bag?"
+
+The Padre continued: "This big plant with leaves taller than a man,
+grows on a hill. We do not let it flower. The huge leaves are cut near
+the root, and new leaves grow up at once. All through the leaf run
+long tough ribs. We drag this over a big rough knife that is fastened
+in a board; and thus we scrape away the soft pulp without breaking
+the fiber. The wet fibers, we hang over a fence in the sun, to dry.
+
+"Then we press the fibers all together, and ship them to you in big
+heavy bales, in the bottom of a ship. You weave the bales of fiber into
+bags, cloth, hawser ropes, canvas, tents, and cordage. We Filipinos,
+also, split the fiber and weave it into many kinds of cloth. Sometimes
+we mix silk or cotton with the abacá hemp."
+
+"I am sure our friend would like to learn about sugar," remarked Fil,
+who had a sweet tooth for candy.
+
+Fil's father took up this part of the story, and said:
+
+"Sugar of course comes from a sweet cane, which is grown on high
+land. The cane is cut down. A pony or a water buffalo is harnessed to
+a roller. We feed the ripened cane into the rollers. As the animal
+drives this roller around, the sugar cane is pressed through. The
+sweet juice is caught and put into kettles. This juice is heated
+several times, and stirred, and purified by bone charcoal. The white
+crystals separate from the dark molasses sirup. We sometimes feed
+the molasses to cattle and pigs, to make them fat for market."
+
+Fil's eyes looked very longingly as he listened to this tale of good
+things; so I passed him a penny or two.
+
+"Is not sugar made also from very sweet, dark beets?" I inquired.
+
+"Not in these islands," replied the Padre. "We find that the sugar
+cane gives a sweeter and a more nutritious product. The beet sugar
+is made in Europe and in the western states of America."
+
+"What do you do with the pressed sugar cane?" I inquired.
+
+"We spread it out in the sun and dry it in large yards. It still
+contains much sugar. We use it for fuel, to light the fires under
+the kettles."
+
+"What a waste!" I exclaimed. "You should use oil or gas for fuel, and
+should press every drop of sugar out of that valuable cane. Waste not;
+want not, is as good a maxim for a nation as for a boy."
+
+"If you are always that serious, like a lecturer, the children may
+not like you so well," remarked the gentle Padre.
+
+"Not at all," replied Fil and Moro and Filippa and Favra, who perhaps
+remembered the pennies I had given to them. Then I hummed as we went
+home to have lunch, or "tiffin," as they call it:
+
+
+    "All lectures and no candy or fun
+    Make Moro and Fil dull boys."
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE COCONUT TREE
+
+
+Moro was always up to tricks. I noticed that he was whispering
+something to Filippa who was laughing.
+
+"Tell it out," demanded Filippa's mother.
+
+"The bad boy said the coconut, which we are trying to break, is a
+hairy monkey's head dried."
+
+"Let me see it," I demanded.
+
+Surely enough, there was plainly marked a monkey's eyes and mouth
+and hair and nose.
+
+"We'll soon settle this," said Fil, who dashed the coconut on a stone,
+broke the hard shell, wasted half the sweet milk,--exposing the white,
+fragrant meat.
+
+"Did you know that the coconut furnishes cloth, mats, roofs, fuel,
+soap oil, candy, puddings, cups, dyes, lamp oil, butter, candles, axle
+grease, ropes, brushes, furniture, shade, food, drink, and liquor to
+intoxicate," asked Filippa's mother, who was as wise as Fil's father.
+
+"Please go slowly," I remarked, "for you are making me think that
+these islands are Paradise; that you touch some button, and every
+wish comes true, as in the fairy stories. In our country, a tree
+furnishes only lumber; or sometimes nuts or sugar in addition, but
+never over two things at once. Now you would have me believe that
+one slim tree with only a tuft of leaves at the top, furnishes you
+twenty useful and rich products. This is really too much to believe,
+though I ask you to forgive me for being so frank."
+
+Filippa's mother replied: "These are the gardens of the sunny Equator;
+and you can, therefore, expect wonderful things. The rough covering
+of the shell is woven into mats, brushes, ropes, and bags. The
+fibers of the leaves make a fine cloth. The dried leaves make a
+roof-thatch. The trunk makes foundation poles. The coconut itself
+is fruit and drink. When the white meat is dried, it is shredded
+for pastry and candy. When the coconut meat is pressed, the oil
+extracted is used for fuel, light, hair pomades, butter, candles,
+and grease. It is used also in making the best hand soaps; in fact,
+it makes the only soap that can be used with salt sea water."
+
+"Please let me tell all its other valuable qualities," said Fil.
+
+"If you cut a coconut in half, you have two cups, or dishes. You can
+draw the milk through a small hole, plug the hole, and use the shell
+as a float. If you burn the shell, you can make a deep dye from the
+ashes,--a dye that will not fade or wash out."
+
+"I'll tell you more about it," Moro eagerly intruded. "The oddest use
+for a smoothed half of a coconut shell, is to use it as a rat-guard,
+to shed off rats from our strings of dried fruit hanging from the
+roof. As the rat comes down the rattan rope, the halved coconut shell
+tips, and down he falls from its smooth surface, to the floor, and
+misses the hanging fruit.
+
+"If you climb up the high coconut tree, and cut a hole in the flowering
+stalk, the juice will run out. This is called the delicious 'tuba'
+liquor, and we catch it in cups made from half of a coconut shell."
+
+"And if you ferment and distill that liquor," said the Padre, "you
+have the cocoa wine which is much used for medicine in America."
+
+Filippa's mother then remarked: "I have seen coconut oil, placed
+in a coconut shell, burning along a coconut wick, as a lamp, in a
+house built out of coconut stems and leaves, under a coconut grove;
+and the Filipino family were eating coconuts, and drinking coconut
+'tuba' juice, at a table made from coconut stalks."
+
+"That must have been in Coconutville, when a coconut clock was
+striking, under a coconut moon," laughed Fil, who sometimes was full
+of smart wit.
+
+"But what I have said is exactly and solemnly true," replied his
+gentle mother.
+
+"I understand it now," I replied, "and I see how one coconut tree would
+make me richer than a whole forest of poplar or oak trees at home."
+
+Hungry Moro remarked: "I wish that this moment I had coconut shredded
+over some Bebinka cakes."
+
+"What are Bebinka cakes?" I inquired.
+
+"They are pancakes made from fermented corn and rice dough,
+mixed. Every Filipino is fond of them," explained Filippa's mother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+INDIGO, MANGO, GUAVA, DURIAN
+
+
+"If you will remain in our sunnier Philippines, I'll tell you about
+plants and flowers and fruits, that you have never even heard about,"
+said sunny little Filippa, who herself was as beautiful as a flower,
+and as soft to touch as a fruit.
+
+"Tell about our indigo," suggested her brother Fil.
+
+Filippa looked very wise, pointed to her indigo skirt, and continued:
+"You get your dyes from the benzene of coal tar, but they do
+not stand washing or sunlight, as well as our bright and strong
+vegetable dyes. We take our indigo plant, and steep the leaves in
+water for twelve hours, in a stone tank. Then Fil drains off the
+yellow liquor. This soon turns green. Then blue sediment settles in
+Nature's wonderful chemical way, under the strong sunlight. We drain
+off the water, and cut the indigo cakes into cubes."
+
+"Very well told," remarked Filippa's mother. "This is a dye which
+will not fade. It lasts as long as the gown. Now, Moro, I would like
+you to tell about mangoes and guavas and durians; for you are always
+eating them."
+
+Moro laughed, and began to throw sticks up into a tall tree.
+
+"What are you doing? Why don't you answer?" I inquired.
+
+"I'm trying to knock down a custard, one foot long and half a foot
+deep," he replied.
+
+"Such nonsense. Custards in my country are made out of eggs and are
+baked in ovens," I said.
+
+"Not this better kind," replied Moro, who brought down a huge fruit,
+all covered with sharp spurs and spikes, sharper and harder than
+rose-thorns.
+
+"Nature has kept her rich custard guarded by spikes and by an awful
+odor," remarked Fil's father, as he broke open the thick skin with
+an ax.
+
+"But it's worth the trouble," said Moro, who pointed out the heart
+of the fruit, which truly was one solid, delicious natural custard,
+one foot long,--enough for a whole Filipino family.
+
+"The monkeys know how to open the spiked fruit better than you do,"
+said Fil. "They throw them from the high branches. The fruit breaks
+open on the ground. Then the wild monkeys race down the tree, and
+eat up the custard durian. Who said that a monkey does not think?"
+
+Everybody laughed at this odd but true tale of the remarkable
+Philippines.
+
+"I know something about guava, for I eat guava jelly with my turkey
+and venison at home, but I never knew that it came from the far-away
+Philippine Islands. Is it a root or a seed?" I inquired.
+
+"Oh, no!" replied Moro. "It's a fruit taken from that low tree
+over there. The flowers are white. The fruit, shaped like a pear,
+is yellow."
+
+"What makes the delightful jelly red?" I inquired.
+
+"Perhaps the cooking, or the sugar that is added," suggested Fil's
+mother.
+
+"You have not yet told about mangoes. Please hand our friend one,"
+said Filippa.
+
+Moro climbed up and up a dizzy height, into an evergreen tree sixty
+feet high. He brought down in his pockets, several fruits as large
+as cucumbers, only the colors were red and yellow.
+
+"Eat one. They are the most delicious and juicy fruit known in the
+whole world,--just like wine," said Moro.
+
+I bit eagerly into one, and at once threw it far away. Everybody
+laughed at my strange action.
+
+"Why, it's turpentine; it's paint," I said. "I didn't think you'd do
+this to me, Moro."
+
+"Swallow it anyway. That turpentine smell lasts only a second,"
+explained Filippa.
+
+I tried another mango, and found it to be the juiciest and sweetest
+fruit that I ever ate, dripping wine, full of refreshment in a hot
+climate, food and drink and medicine in one.
+
+"What do you do with its large seed, as hard as iron?" I inquired.
+
+"I'll show you," replied Moro.
+
+The bright boy at once lighted a fire, and roasted the hard seed
+in the ashes. Then he brushed and washed it clean; and handed it to
+me, when it became somewhat cool, saying: "Eat it too; it is really
+chocolate toast now."
+
+And such I found it to be.
+
+"Your mango then is a whole breakfast,--toast, drink, and fruit,"
+I said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE FOREST
+
+
+When we all met next morning, again under the bamboo grove, the good
+Padre said:
+
+"If you were lost in your woods at home, you would soon wander and die;
+but if you were lost here, you could live for years."
+
+"Then let us go into such a forest of Eden," I replied, and held out
+my hands to Fil and Filippa.
+
+Away we went down the white shell road across the canal; and soon we
+were lost among the many trees, palms, and vines.
+
+The Padre pointed to the coconut tree and the nipa palm, and said:
+"As we already have told you, they would afford you a house, food,
+drink, light, and soap."
+
+"What is this great hard tree?" I inquired.
+
+The Padre explained: "That's the valuable mahogany. Thin strips of
+it are polished, and used to cover the woodwork of your piano and
+bureau at home."
+
+"And this other wonderful, new tree?" I asked.
+
+"That is the molave. It is so hard that sea worms and white ants
+cannot bore into it. So it is good for boats, wharves, and frames
+for big buildings," replied the Padre.
+
+"Here is a pretty tree," remarked Filippa.
+
+"You should think so," answered her father. "It is the lanete. Its wood
+is so strong and pliable, that your violin was made from part of one."
+
+"Here's a skipping rope," exclaimed Filippa.
+
+"No, a boat rope," explained Fil.
+
+"That is really the bejuco rattan vine," remarked the Padre, who
+knew botany and the lore of nature. "It is three hundred feet long,
+as long as a city block, if you pull it out of the jungle and away
+from the tree tops, where it has climbed like a huge snake. We can
+use it for bridge or carriage ropes, or we can divide the strands
+and make cloth, or hats, or cord out of it."
+
+"What gorgeous and sweet-scented flowers," exclaimed Filippa, pointing
+to a great tree.
+
+"That is the Ylang," said the Padre. "Our friend uses its perfume
+on his handkerchief; but he did not know, perhaps, that the flower
+grew in the far-away Philippines. It has the deepest fragrance of
+any flower, whether on plant, bush, or tree."
+
+"What can its strange name mean?" I inquired; for I seemed to have
+no acquaintance with nature at all, in this wonderfully different land.
+
+The Padre, who knew many languages, explained: "It is a Malay word
+which means, 'The chief flower of all flowers'; and such I think
+it really is. We capture the fragrance by distilling the flowers,
+and mixing pure alcohol with the essence."
+
+"If you were ill in the forest, and caught fever from the mosquitoes
+and ants that stung you, the bark of this tree would cure you, just
+as quinine does," continued the Padre.
+
+"Is it the little quinine, or cinchona, tree?" I inquired.
+
+"No, it is a sister tree. We call it 'Dita' in our language."
+
+"I said our forests would house and feed you. Now I'll show you
+how they would also clothe you. Please show me your handkerchief,
+Filippa," said the Padre.
+
+Filippa handed him a little square of linen cloth, so thin and watery
+in color, or absence of color, that I could look through it.
+
+"In your country, that little handkerchief would be worth twenty-five
+dollars. It is woven from the very thin fibers drawn from pineapple
+leaves, and is called Pina cloth, or Pina linen."
+
+Filippa's mother added: "It is finer than silk or hemp linen. We make
+our best shiny gowns and laces out of it. Because it is so fine,
+it takes a long time to get enough threads to weave and work it
+together. The time spent in making it, explains its great cost."
+
+"I see now why Filippa is promised a Pina gown for our coming feast,
+or fiesta day, that you kindly promise to give in my honor before I
+go away. It certainly is a cloth fit for a queen," I replied.
+
+"Oh! when will the feast day come?" Filippa eagerly inquired.
+
+"Soon," laughed her mother.
+
+"Here is a more wonderful tree, from the gum of which we make
+automobile tires, rubber heels, elastic bands, hot water bags, rain
+coats, rubber shoes, hose, and so on," exclaimed the Padre.
+
+I looked; and surely enough, there was the identical rubber tree
+which we see in florists' shops or in the greenhouse at home; only
+this tree was larger. Its thick leaves were nearly as large as a hat.
+
+"We cut a hole in the bark, and, when the yellow gum oozes out, we
+boil it down thick, till it is dark colored. Then we mix it with chalk
+and sulphur; and behold, afterwards we roll out your automobile tire,"
+explained the wise Padre.
+
+"Could you pull the rubber tree out as high as the stars, and would
+it snap back again?" asked joking Moro.
+
+"Stop your joking," replied Fil's mother. "You know very well that the
+rubber tree itself is not pure gum, any more than the maple tree in
+America is pure sugar. It is the gum of the rubber tree that becomes
+the rubber."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MINERALS
+
+
+"It is not only what towers above us, that makes our islands rich. Dig
+at your feet, and you will find valuable minerals! Magellan, the
+Spaniard, first discovered the Philippine Islands while he was on a
+search for gold, though I think a rubber tree, or a bamboo, is more
+valuable than gold," said the wise Padre.
+
+"We get gold in two ways," explained Fil. "We wash it from scooped-up
+gravel, and we break it out of rock with a hammer."
+
+"And how do you melt your iron and copper?" I inquired.
+
+"We dig coal, and use bamboo pipes and a bellows to make the draft. We
+put the ore into a clay kettle, and melt the rock out of it. Then,
+when the iron is pure, we heat it again until it is red, and beat it
+with hammers into shapes. Thus we make it into wheels, spears, axes,
+and so on," explained Fil, who had watched the workmen at their labors.
+
+"I know little about practical, mechanical affairs; tell me more,"
+urged Filippa.
+
+"We have petroleum oil, just as America has; also, lead and paint
+ores. We have burnt-out volcano hills, composed of sulphur down into
+their deep hearts."
+
+"That is like a very bad place, way down below, that I have read
+about," interrupted Moro; and Fil's mother and the Padre shook their
+fingers at him for joking.
+
+Fil continued: "We have beautiful marble quarries, out of which we can
+carve statues and table tops, and tops for seats. Our marble is full
+of colored veins just like jewels. Then we also have gypsum mines,
+which furnish both fertilizer for land, to make crops grow high,
+and plaster of Paris, out of which we make pretty white statues."
+
+"Wonderful!" I said, "I never thought of all this, when at home I
+bought the lovely white statues of lions and birds, from the vendor
+man with the basketful, on our street corner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WATER BUFFALO
+
+
+We were all so tired when we came out of the wood to the canal, that
+Fil's father told us to wait until a buffalo cart came down the white
+shell road.
+
+"A buffalo cart!" I exclaimed. "I'm afraid to ride in that. We used
+to shoot buffaloes in our country, and the few now remaining we guard
+behind iron fences in zoo gardens."
+
+"Here he comes!" exclaimed Fil and Moro together.
+
+"Boys, boys, be careful!" I cried.
+
+"Let us frighten our guest," whispered Moro.
+
+The buffalo sniffed at me, a stranger, and would have charged with his
+head down; but the man who had a rope tied to a ring in the buffalo's
+soft nose, pulled the animal back.
+
+"Get down, you foolish boy!" I exclaimed.
+
+But before I could stop him, brave little Moro had climbed up between
+the fierce looking animal's thick, long, sweeping horns, which extended
+from his large head back to his shoulders.
+
+"Please get into the cart, everybody," Fil's father ordered, in
+a hospitable manner, bowing and waving his arm. It was indeed a
+high step.
+
+The cart had solid wooden wheels, made out of one thick section that
+had been cut from a mahogany tree. There was no iron rim around the
+edge of the wheel. The sides of the cart, however, were light, as
+they were made from bamboo posts with rattan vine woven between them.
+
+The driver sat on the shafts, and directed the heavy animal, just as
+much by words as by pulling the long rope.
+
+"Why do you call these strong animals water buffaloes?" I asked Fil.
+
+"Because, to escape the flies and the heat, the animal refuses to work
+during the heat of the day, and rushes off into a stream, or into the
+sea, to cover himself with mud and sand and water and weeds. All you
+can see above the stirred-up water are his large eyes and two wicked
+looking horns, which are as thick as a branch of a tree."
+
+"What an odd tail he has, much like a mule's hairless tail. It looks
+like a piece of hose-pipe," I exclaimed.
+
+Moro, way up on the buffalo's neck, heard me and laughed: "He can't
+reach me with his rubber tail."
+
+"But I'll reach you, Sir, if you don't get down soon from your
+dangerous perch," said Fil's father.
+
+The Padre explained: "We sometimes call these animals carabao. We use
+them for plowing, for drawing our sugar to market, for pressing our
+hemp mill, for turning our water wheels and sugar rollers, for pulling
+the huge logs of hardwood out of the thick forest. When the roads
+are too muddy for wheeled carts, we make a mud sleigh with runners;
+and the water buffalo with his thick hoofs pulls our loads of rice
+bags through the ooze."
+
+"And we eat him too, though his steaks are tougher than cow meat,"
+laughed Fil.
+
+"And we make taws and whips out of his thick hide to correct little
+boys, if they have too much to say sometimes," remarked Fil's father,
+who winked at me, showing that his words were more severe than were
+his intentions or acts. Like the terrier, he just liked to frighten
+people; his bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+BATS; CATTLE; HORSES; CATS; MONKEYS
+
+
+"Let us stop here," begged Fil.
+
+The driver, who wore a mushroom-shaped bamboo hat, pulled the water
+buffalo to a stop. All, except Filippa and Favra, got off at the
+mouth of a cave.
+
+"I won't go in or near it," exclaimed Filippa.
+
+"Girls are afraid of real things, of imaginary noises, and even of
+unreal shadows," jeered Fil.
+
+"No wonder, if you refer to this damp cave," remarked Fil's mother.
+
+Creeping up quietly to the entrance, Fil and Moro threw stones and
+oranges and mangoes up to the echoing roof.
+
+"Lie down quick," shouted Fil's father.
+
+We had need to stoop, for there was a whirring in the roof of the
+cave and over its mouth, like the sound of birds or aeroplanes.
+
+"What are they, owls or eagles?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Furry fruit-bats, as large as flying cats," laughed Fil, who was
+proud of his secret cave and of his discovery.
+
+"You don't really mean to say that those large flying things have fur,
+and eat fruit?" I asked.
+
+"Exactly," replied Fil's father. "These are the large Philippine
+bats. The wings of some of them are three feet across. Ladies use
+their fur to decorate gowns. The bats live on fruit, just as monkeys
+do; only the bats eat at dusk, and sleep during the day. That is why
+we caught them napping, by going to the cave in daylight."
+
+"Wonderful country! Wonderful new kinds of life! I notice too that
+your cattle have humps on their shoulders," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," replied Fil's father, "our cattle, though smaller than yours,
+have high humps on their shoulders. They are of the Indian and Chinese
+breed; not of the English breed. But they are very good animals and
+have beautiful soft eyes, which seem to cry and plead for pity. We
+use them also to draw our carts."
+
+"I notice that others of the Philippine animals are also of the
+toy order; tiny but lovely specimens, like your spirited but small,
+black horses," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," said Fil's father, "our Malay horses, just like the Chinese
+horses, are more like spirited little ponies. They have hard mouths,
+but when they know you and are well treated, they obey well. Some day,
+when you ride over the hills on one, you will see how sure-footed
+they are on the trails; as safe as mountain goats. Your larger horses
+would tumble over in those difficult places."
+
+One of the disturbed bats had settled in a tree. He was clinging upside
+down, with his wings folded over his eyes. Up the trunk of the tree,
+the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it.
+
+"That cat should be a fisherman," I exclaimed in a joking manner.
+
+"Yes," answered Fil, "some of our yellow cats have odd, hooked tails,
+just like monkey tails."
+
+"Maybe they once hung from tree branches by their tails, along with
+the furry monkeys," suggested Moro, who often thought of the odd side
+of things.
+
+"What a gripping tale you are telling," added Fil, who indulged in
+roguish puns.
+
+"Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats," said Moro.
+
+"Imagination has as much as taste to do with food; and, unless you call
+my next stewed monkey dish, deer or lamb, I won't eat it," I remarked.
+
+Fil and Moro laughed and winked; for they had planned this true but
+strange story to make me feel uncomfortable for a minute.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+FLYING ANTS AND LOCUSTS
+
+
+We all climbed back into the buffalo-wagon, to go homeward. On the
+way, we passed a house which had collapsed in the middle, as though
+a great weight had broken its backbone.
+
+"A blind, flying ant did that," said Fil.
+
+"Now, Fil, you really think I'm from the backwoods; you wish me to
+believe impossible tales," I replied.
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Fil. "A flying white ant broke the thick
+beams of that big building, just as though a mountain fell on it,
+or as if an earthquake had rent it."
+
+"Why, then, did they not stop the ants, the silly, lazy people?" I
+exclaimed.
+
+"Because they couldn't see or hear them," said Fil. "You see,
+it happens in this way. Our deadly white ant flies in a cloud of
+ants. When he reaches a house, he bores inside; then he is happy. He
+feels his way. He does not need to see. He just follows his nose,
+so to speak.
+
+"His sense of smell, perhaps, draws him to the lumber of the house
+on which he lives. He does not like air. So, when he reaches a beam,
+he and all the other brother ants eat out the heart of it; but they
+do not break the shell, which is painted. The people in the house do
+not know anything about this, for the ants of course make no noise,
+and the painted outside surface of the beam is unbroken.
+
+"Suddenly there is a strain during a typhoon, or a jar is caused by
+some person walking overhead; and down comes the whole house, like
+a person whose bones suddenly give way and become powder. The ants
+have escaped, because they have eaten the whole beam and have gone
+elsewhere for food."
+
+"Can't you catch and destroy such awful pests?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, yes! It's great fun," replied Filippa. We place a pail of water in
+a dark place, and light a candle which floats on a saucer. The ants fly
+to the light. Their wings are burnt off; and, silly, half-blind things,
+they all get drowned or wet, so that we can gather and destroy them."
+
+"They can nip you, too," said Moro, who was slapping at something on
+his hand.
+
+"Some people in the Philippines eat insects--the locusts. They fry them
+in coconut oil. Did you ever hear of such a wonder?" asked Filippa.
+
+"Come to think of it, yes; for in the Bible it says that the food
+of John the Baptist, the great prophet, was locusts and wild honey,
+when he was in distress in the wilderness."
+
+"What does _locust_ mean?" asked the wise Padre. Nobody seemed to know.
+
+"It means leaping," said the Padre.
+
+"That's how we catch them," said Fil. "Before their wings grow, they
+jump. We dig deep ditches and chase them by beating drums, for they
+dislike noise. They jump and fall into the ditch, which, however, is
+too high for them to jump out of. Then we pour on oil and burn them."
+
+"If we didn't, they'd eat up all our crops," remarked the Padre.
+
+"I know a bird that catches them. I've seen it," said Fil, whose eyes
+were very sharp, like a boy scout in the woods.
+
+"What kind of a bird?" inquired Filippa, who loved bird pets.
+
+"A kind of Chinese ground-lark. It has large eyes and a long bill,
+and its feathers are spotted," replied Fil.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+BOATS AND FISH
+
+
+We were passing over the bridge that carried the road over an arm of
+the sea,--the purple sea, which had a white foam-edge.
+
+I noticed a boat moving against the tide. It had no engine, no sails,
+no rowers at the oarlocks. Only one man was on deck, leaning on a
+long pole. He walked slowly from the front to the back of the boat,
+still leaning on the long pole.
+
+"Here's another wonder of your marvelous Philippines--a boat moving
+without exerting power," I exclaimed.
+
+Fil looked at Moro and smiled. I saw that they both pitied my ignorance
+in a strange land. Then Fil said kindly:
+
+"Don't you see the man walking steadily along the running board,
+from the front to the back of the boat? Well, he is pushing on a long
+pole, and that power moves the boat against the tide. The pole reaches
+down to the bottom, through the shallow water. If the boat is loaded,
+and if the cargo is very heavy, two men push on each pole. The pole
+is a thick bamboo stick."
+
+"I also notice a curved deck or covering, laid over the boats," I said.
+
+"Yes, that is a roof, or thatch, made out of nipa palm leaves tied
+on to bamboo sticks," Fil explained.
+
+"Please look!" said sweet little Filippa. "Out there on the purple
+ocean is a more wonderful boat still."
+
+I looked. Oddest of sights! A boat shaped like a long leaf was scudding
+before the wind. The one sail seemed to pull the boat over from the
+wind. No one was really in the boat. But sitting far out, on a bamboo
+out-rigger, high into the wind-side, above the water, a sailor was
+balancing the boat and holding the sail by a long rope. Only on one
+side of the boat was there a bamboo pole fixed lengthways. It did not
+seem to be a well-balanced boat, yet it sailed along at a great speed;
+and risky as the sport seemed, the sailor sat perfectly safe on his
+high and dangerous looking perch, above the water.
+
+"What kind of boat is that?" I asked.
+
+"An out-rigger boat. Some people call it a dug-out boat," replied
+Filippa.
+
+"I'll tell you more about it," added Fil. "The boat itself is half of
+a solid log, hollowed out by fire and axe and knife. It is chipped
+and scraped smooth on the outside, and the ends are pointed. If the
+wind dies down, the sailor has to paddle the heavy boat home. Then
+he sits over on the side opposite the out-rigger, so as to balance
+it. But when he has hoisted sail, he sits on the out-rigger, as the
+sail balances the boat on the sailing side, opposite the wind. The
+boat easily rolls over, because it has no sharp keel going down into
+the water. But it is swifter before the wind, just because it has no
+keel to keep it back."
+
+"Very clever are your Filipino sailors," I admitted. "Tell me if the
+boats are used for other purposes than sport."
+
+"Oh, yes," said quiet little Favra, Filippa's chum. "The sailors
+fish in them and bring us home fish with names as wonderful as are
+their colors."
+
+"Tell me the names, please," I asked.
+
+Favra slowly thought of three and replied: "The pompano, all silver,
+gold, and purple, and as wide as it is long; the fighting barracuda,
+so hard to bring in to the boat; and the leaping tuna, that jumps
+out of the water and out of the boat perhaps."
+
+Fil added: "Then there's the bonito, as big as a pig, though its name
+jokingly means 'good little one'; the sail fish which lifts its fin
+into the wind; and the garoupa."
+
+"Wonderful names," I admitted.
+
+"And all wonderfully good to eat," added Moro, who was often thinking
+of dinners and feasts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SAW MILL; MUD SLEIGHS; WOODEN PLOWS
+
+
+"At what are you going to earn your living when you grow up,
+Fil?" asked the Padre, who was his teacher, when we all met again
+under the whispering bamboos next morning.
+
+Fil thought a minute, pursed his chest out like a pouter pigeon,
+and replied to the great admiration of Filippa, who was a very
+loyal sister:
+
+"I shall be a Senator, or President."
+
+"Come down from the clouds, Master Fil," replied his father;
+"stop dreaming and say something practical. There can be only one
+President and only a few score Senators. So if every one had your
+aims, millions would starve. Yet millions are working happily, and
+earning wages which buy them what they need, if their ideas are not
+too selfish. They do not need to bow to wretched, cringing politics."
+
+"At what do they work?" eagerly inquired Fil.
+
+"Come and see," said Fil's father and the Padre together. We all
+followed.
+
+"Here's a lumber yard; let us go in," said Fil's father.
+
+"That man on top of that huge, uplifted log will topple off, and that
+man underneath will get his eyes filled with sawdust," I exclaimed.
+
+"That's our way of sawing lumber," explained Fil's father. "We lift
+up one end of the log. One man gets on top and the other man below;
+and between them they pull up and down the heavy saw, until half of
+the log all feathers out into many boards. Then they raise the other
+end, and the men saw down to meet those first cuts, while board after
+board falls down."
+
+"Don't you have round saws of steel, driven by machinery?" I asked.
+
+"Not always," said Fil's father. "The wages here are so low that
+we can afford to hire men to do handwork. This gives many men work,
+and keeps them from being idle and discontented."
+
+"But here is one very round log which they are sawing across grain,
+into round wheels; and they are boring one hole into the center,"
+I exclaimed.
+
+"They really are wheels for buffalo carts. Don't you remember your
+ride the other day?" asked Fil.
+
+I did remember the heavy, creaking wheel, made of one solid piece
+of wood.
+
+"They never need an iron rim," added Fil's father; "and so are not
+as heavy as they look."
+
+"Why, here's a low sleigh, being made out of bamboo poles, runners
+and boards. Do you have winter here after all?" I asked.
+
+"No, nothing but hottest summer always. But we have much rain, and
+our roads are not all paved with rock," explained Fil's father. "If
+we used those high wheels on the muddy roads, they would sink so far
+down that the buffalo or bullock could not pull out the cart that
+was loaded with rice or sugar."
+
+"So you see, the sleigh slips more easily through the slippery mud,"
+added Fil.
+
+"But what if you fell off, a mile from a crossing?" I asked laughingly.
+
+"Oh, he jokes too, and you don't check him," remarked Fil, who looked
+at his father. Fil's father smiled.
+
+"What is this tough, crooked elbow stick, fixed to a long pole?" I
+inquired.
+
+"A plow," answered Fil wisely:
+
+"Don't joke. How can you have a plow wholly made of wood?" I asked.
+
+"I'll tell you," said Fil. "You see our rice fields are flooded and
+soft. We do not need a solid heavy steel plow, such as you need in
+hard, dry land. The water buffalo, who loves to wade through the
+flooded rice fields, easily pulls this bent stick, which plows up
+the mud. Then we drain the field and plant the rice seedlings, and
+flood the field again, because rice must grow in water."
+
+"It is a peculiar but lovely Philippines that you live in ; so
+different from our country, but perhaps even more charming," I added.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+UMBRELLAS; CHAIRS; MILK-BOTTLE
+
+
+"Please show us an umbrella shop," begged Filippa and Favra together;
+for they had been whispering about what they would like to see.
+
+"This way, then," said her father and the Padre.
+
+We walked along several narrow streets, which had bamboo blinds hung
+between the second stories, so as to keep out the strong sun.
+
+When we came to a certain door space, which really had no hinged door,
+Filippa's father moved aside the dangling ropes, made of glass and
+bamboo beads, which hung across the entrance. This made a tinkling
+noise, and attracted the workman to the front.
+
+"We would like to see your umbrellas," explained Fil's father.
+
+I thought the workman would show us silk or cloth ones, that would
+roll up tight.
+
+"Why, this one is very thick," I said.
+
+"Lift it. It really is not heavy," explained Fil's father.
+
+"How is it made?" I inquired.
+
+"It is made out of split bamboos, which are spread out in a
+circle. Oiled silk, or oiled hemp cloth, is pasted over the frame. It
+all costs very little," explained Fil's father.
+
+"But they are so thick, I could not put more than one in my umbrella
+stand at home," I said.
+
+"There you are joking again," laughed Fil, who added: "We Filipinos
+hang our umbrella up on the veranda roof, where it is ornamental,
+as well as useful when wanted."
+
+"You see our umbrellas are made in pretty colors," explained Filippa,
+who certainly showed that she would become a good housekeeper.
+
+"Now, would you like to see a chair-shop, where they use no saw or
+plane or nails?" asked Fil.
+
+"It seems nonsense, because our chairs at home are sawn from oak logs;
+and they are so filled with tacks and nails that they tear my clothes,"
+I replied.
+
+"Around this corner," said Fil, who was proud to lead the way.
+
+Surely enough, Filipino workmen were tying lengths of bamboo poles
+together, with tough rattan vine, for the frame of a chair. The back
+was made of laced rattan and grasses. The seat was made of split
+bamboo, round side up, and all was as smooth, restful, light, and
+pliable as could be wished; and not a dangerous nail nor a saw used
+to make it.
+
+"You can throw these chairs about. They never break, because they
+give way a little, like a spring. They are elastic, yet strong,"
+explained Fil's father.
+
+"And they cost only a few cents," added the Padre.
+
+"We don't care when they burn up," remarked Fil, who received from
+his father a stern look, and the order not to joke too much.
+
+As we walked home, we passed a man who carried a bamboo over one
+shoulder. At one end of the pole hung a thick piece of hollow
+bamboo. At the other end of the pole hung an earthenware jug, tied
+in a net of rattan. Behind him followed a herd of goats.
+
+"Fresh milk and bottled milk for children," he cried.
+
+"What is he, a curio seller?" I asked.
+
+"No, a milkman," answered Fil. "The bamboo jug is a pint measure. The
+earthen bottle holds the milk. And if you want fresh, warm milk for
+the baby, he will milk it here from one of his nibbling goats, right
+into the bamboo jug."
+
+"Always fresh milk!" shouted the vendor, as with his fingers, he made
+a snapping sound to call his herd of goats.
+
+"Really, a walking dairy," I remarked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+HOME LIFE
+
+
+We were all tired when we reached home. The Angelus bell was sounding
+from the high white tower of the Iglesia. Every one stood still,
+bowed, made the holy sign, and then said a quiet prayer.
+
+After a late dinner, Fil and Filippa as usual kissed the hands of
+their parents, bowed to them, and retired.
+
+I thought how dutiful a custom this was, and I recalled how, in my
+own country, too many rude, selfish children, full of conceit, have
+little respect for their parents, and really attempt to order their
+elders around. The Filipino boy seems to know his place, as a boy.
+
+The grander Philippine houses, on the second floor, have a large hall
+called the "caida" (ca e'da). Here every one meets to enjoy the feasts
+or music. The kitchen and the bath-house are small separate buildings
+in the yard, or "azotea" (a tho tai'a). Every one must bathe once a
+day at least.
+
+During the great heat of the day, after lunch, or "tiffin" as it is
+called, everyone sleeps a restful hour or two. Therefore visiting
+and dinners are carried on long into the night, when it is cooler.
+
+To keep out the sun, instead of glass, opaque mussel shells are used
+in the many little frames of the windows. This makes a pearly, soft
+light, like moonshine in the house, even on the brightest, hottest day.
+
+I noticed that women stood in the streams, and pounded clothes on
+smooth, round rocks.
+
+"That's our way of washing, out in nature's laundry," explained
+Filippa's mother.
+
+When Fil and Filippa were aroused each morning, I noticed that their
+mother did not touch or shake them, and I ventured to ask why she
+called so long and loud, even though she was standing over them. I
+remarked that in our land, a father would soon shake his lazy boy
+awake.
+
+"You shock me," replied Fil's mother. "We in the Philippines believe
+that it is most unlucky to disturb the sleeping spirit of a person
+by a touch. When the spirit is ready to answer to the call, it is
+ready to awake and come back into this world."
+
+"Why, how superstitious!" I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack
+of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences on
+unimportant things.
+
+"Not more superstitious than you are, when you refuse to pass under a
+ladder, or to begin a voyage on a Friday," Fil's mother answered. Then
+I realized that every person, every race, and every nation, and
+every color of mankind have their faults as well as their virtues,
+weak points as well as strong and good ones. There is something good
+in even the worst of us; and, perhaps, something bad in the best of us!
+
+"I can testify that you Filipinos surpass my people in one thing,"
+I said.
+
+"Thank you. What is it?" asked Fil's mother and father together.
+
+"Respect for parents and poor relations," I answered. "Fil and Filippa
+kiss your hand and bow, morning and night. You, though a father and
+mother, are also as dutiful as children. You keep grandfather and
+grandmother, and poor old relations around the home, where they can
+always have a place to sleep, a kind hand near, and can get a bite to
+eat anyway, and a tear of sympathy over their sick bed, at the last."
+
+"By our religion, and by the warmth of our own hearts, we Filipinos
+believe it to be a cruel sin to send our parents and relatives to
+asylums. God gave us to them at the beginning of life, and God gives
+them to us at the end of life," replied Fil's pious mother.
+
+"What a very, very beautiful saying, and what a beautiful deed!" I
+said.
+
+Fil's grandmother was sitting in a corner of the room. I could see
+a tear of joy stealing down her sweet old face.
+
+We all now rose; saluted each other; and, as we retired for the night,
+we each said "Adios" (a de os'), which means "good night" or "good-by,"
+or really, "To God we commend you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+DRESS
+
+
+The next morning the washwoman was bringing in the clothes. Knowing
+that I was a stranger, and would like to bring a true story home to
+American boys and girls, Fil's mother asked me: "Would you like to
+learn the names and kinds of our garments? You will notice that they
+are very different from yours."
+
+"Certainly I would. I live in a land where some people spend more
+time over clothes than over learning, character, good deeds, or the
+day's duty," I replied.
+
+"This large flowing skirt of red, green, or white, is made of cotton,
+or hemp; and sometimes a little silk may be mixed in. We like bright
+colors, and a long train. No short, tight skirts in our styles,"
+explained Filippa's mother.
+
+"How sensible," I remarked.
+
+"This loose waist or chemisette is sometimes white and sometimes
+colored. It is made of jusi cloth, that is, cloth woven from banana
+leaf fiber. You see it is softer, thinner, and cooler than your linen
+or cotton."
+
+"It is lovely," I acknowledged.
+
+"Loose wide collars are in style with you now, but they have always
+been in style here. We call it 'panuelo' (pa nu ai'lo). It is our
+whitest, thinnest fiber, made from pineapple leaves, just like our
+handkerchiefs that I told you about. You see we starch it. It hangs
+down the back to a point, and it is very cool and dainty," explained
+Filippa's mother.
+
+"What wide sleeves!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, sinamei chemisettes, or waists, have very wide sleeves, but are
+short to the elbow. We starch them out, so they will be cool and neat,"
+replied Filippa's mother.
+
+"I notice that Filippa's hair is worn plain," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," replied her mother, "we brush the hair back plain; tie a knot or
+leave it loose. We like jewelry, and we wear splendid lace mantillas,
+or shawls, over the head."
+
+"What odd slippers with no heels!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, we all like to have our feet ready to jump into mud or water,
+for our roads are not yet good. These slippers are called 'chinelas'
+(che nay'las). They have no heel and just a catch to put the toe
+in. They have no laces. With them we slide along the ground. But we
+cannot back up straight, or run last in them. If we wish to go back
+we must turn around, so as to keep our chinelas on our toes. The
+young people do not wear stockings in our warm climate, where one
+lives close to Nature,--too close sometimes, when the snake bites."
+
+"But taken all together, what a happy Eden this is for a boy or a
+girl," I added.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE "ADIOS" FEAST
+
+
+Next day as we were walking down the road to the good-by feast,
+I noticed a crowd gathered in a circle, and stooping over.
+
+"What are they doing; digging gold?" I asked.
+
+"No, they are making game-fowl fight," Moro replied. "They wager
+money on which will be the winner and put the other to flight. The
+boys and men get very much excited."
+
+"This good-by feast in your honor, before you return home, is called
+a 'fiesta' (fe ais'ta)," explained Filippa. "Father and mother and
+Fil have spoken to the Padre, and the barrio-elders; and everything
+is arranged."
+
+"But what is a 'barrio'?" I inquired.
+
+"It means a village, a ward," replied Filippa.
+
+I could hear bands and orchestras gathering. Here and there were tall
+bamboos bent over the paths, and from their arches hung banners and
+colored paper lanterns.
+
+Carromatos (car ro ma' tos), small carriages drawn by little black
+ponies, were bringing people in. The men and boys were dressed in
+white duck, as though they were going aboard yachts.
+
+In front of the houses and the Iglesia (church) and convent were hung
+flags, festoons, streamers, wreaths, and bunting.
+
+Flowers and palm leaves were strewn along the path that the procession
+would take.
+
+Then we all started. The procession was led by the bands to the
+Iglesia, where, from the high campanile tower, the church bells were
+ringing. In the church the good Padre said a few words, and gave us
+all his prayers and blessing.
+
+While we were inside, evening had fallen. When we stepped out into the
+square, we saw a fairy starry land. Some one had lighted not only the
+lanterns and torches, but the larger southern stars of these tropical
+islands were shining brightly overhead. Colored rockets were also
+shot up into the night.
+
+The barrio-saint--really, the small statue of the patron saint of
+the village--was carried at the head of the procession.
+
+Then to the music of the bands, we all marched home to the big upper
+hall, and gathered around a wonderful table. Roast pig, chicken,
+pheasant; mountains of rice and fruit; candied ginger and mango;
+pickled chutney, which is sweet and sour at the same time and also
+spiced; coconut and nipa wine; flowers as big as a hat and smelling
+as sweet as a bottle of perfume! Sandalwood and spice-incense smoked
+sweetly, and nearly hid the good Padre and Fil's father, who sat at
+the head of the table.
+
+The orchestra tinkled all kinds of drums, castanets, bells, fiddles;
+many of them having strange shapes and shrill noises. Funny,
+fat-cheeked boys were blowing the very life out of the flutes. All
+were very happy!
+
+"Not happy to see you leave, but trying to make you so happy that you
+will not have time to entertain regrets to-night. We want to remember
+your smiling face," said Fil's father.
+
+Then the table was cleared and moved. The company all gathered around
+the hall.
+
+Suddenly a hush; then a clamorous call of the orchestra! Then another
+hush--Filippa, dressed in silver spangle, and Fil, dressed in scarlet
+and gold, suddenly rushed from opposite sides of the hall to do the
+love-dance, in which the brave soldier woos and wins his sweetheart.
+
+They came near each other. She seemed to be coy; to quarrel
+sometimes; to beg; to promise. They whirled about; they executed
+steps; they snapped castanets. The orchestra sang, whistled, snapped,
+strummed. The music flowed in waltzes; it jerked in Castilian measures;
+it whispered. It serenaded, while Fil carried a mandolin with a
+ribbon. Filippa dropped her handkerchief: Fil gracefully picked it
+up. He danced in pleading. He showed all the pretty steps he could
+do. As a sign that the soldier had won his lady-love, Filippa at
+last consented that he should return the handkerchief, crown her
+proudly with it on her cloud of thick hair, and waltz away with her
+triumphantly.
+
+It was a pretty tableau. The orchestra broke out in loud and full
+harmony, with now and then a wild Moro yell or shout, from the flutes
+and drums.
+
+How we applauded! Fil and Filippa had to bow their thanks many times,
+from the side of the caida (hall).
+
+Then there was another pause, after the Padre and Fil's father had
+whispered.
+
+Suddenly Moro ran out with a rush, to give a wild Mohammedan dance.
+
+How strangely he was dressed! He wore tight red trousers, a red and
+blue turban on his head, and a tight jeweled tunic, covered with pearl
+buttons. His sash was green, dotted with purple spots. He had purple
+parrot feathers at his waist and in his turban.
+
+His feet were bare, as is the custom in his native wilds in the south
+island. The round shield that he carried, glistened. He waved two
+terrible kriss-knives, with jeweled handles. Over his shoulder he
+carried a spear. How he drummed on that shield! He hurled his knives
+into the air, and cleverly caught them before they fell. He seemed to
+pursue a foe; to crouch like a boy scout; to listen; to follow the
+track; to meet the foe; to battle for his life and country. At last
+he seemed to conquer with a wild yell, just as he was hurled backward
+and his shield was thrown aside. All this, while we held our breath
+in excitement, he acted in his strange, barbaric dance, keeping time
+with the wind-like, volcano-like music of his native Moro islands.
+
+The fiesta and the dances were over at last. The dancers and the
+guests departed.
+
+Next morning, as we stood on the coconut wharf waiting for the boat
+to come in, Fil perhaps noticed that I looked sad. I saw by his smile
+that he was preparing one of his jokes to cheer me up.
+
+"Father," said he, "may I take our friend back to America, so as to
+see that he arrives all right?"
+
+"Wait till you grow bigger," replied Fil's father.
+
+"Then don't blame me if he gets lost," laughed little Fil, as he tried
+to stand on his tiptoes, and lifted his hand high above his head,
+so as to appear as tall as a man.
+
+After all this courtesy, all this happy, laughing time, in these sunny
+summer islands of the purple Philippine seas, it almost broke my heart,
+as I left for home, to answer Fil, Filippa, their kind parents, Moro,
+the good Padre, and little Favra who were calling from the wharf:
+"Adios, amigo" (a de os' a me'go)--"To God we commend you, our friend."
+
+
+                            THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+            Printed in the United States of America.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fil and Filippa
+       Story of Child Life in the Philippines
+
+Author: John Stuart Thomson
+
+Illustrator: Maud Petersham
+             Miska Petersham
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2008 [EBook #26414]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIL AND FILIPPA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="front">
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Original Front Cover." width="481" height="720"></div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/frenchtitle.gif" alt="Fil and Filippa" width="325" height="87"></div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0006.gif" alt="Decorative Text: Fil and Filippa" width="720" height="409"></div><p>
+
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0006-2.gif" alt="Map showing location of the Philippines and the U.S." width="796" height="720"></div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0007.gif" alt="Original Title Page." width="486" height="720"></div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="titlePage">
+<h1 class="docTitle">Fil and Filippa</h1>
+<h2 class="docTitle">Story of Child Life
+in the Philippines
+</h2>
+<h2 class="byline">By
+<br>
+<span class="docAuthor">John Stuart Thomson</span>
+<br>
+Author of
+&#8220;China Revolutionized&#8221;
+&#8220;The Chinese&#8221;
+&#8220;Bud and Bamboo&#8221; Etc.
+<br>
+Illustrations by
+<br>
+<span class="docAuthor">Maud and Miska Petersham</span></h2>
+<h2 class="docImprint">The Macmillan Company, Publishers
+<br>
+New York MCMXXIX
+</h2>
+</div><div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p class="aligncenter"><span class="smallcaps">Copyright</span>, 1917,<br>
+<span class="smallcaps">By the Macmillan Company.</span>
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter">Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1917.
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter">Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><p class="aligncenter">Dedicated to my Little Friend
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter">Francis Doris
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter">By the Author
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e157" href="#xd0e157">vii</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="toc" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><h2 class="normal">Contents</h2>
+<ol class="lsoff">
+<li>Chapter <span class="tocPagenum">Page</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>I. <a href="#ch1"><span class="smallcaps">Names.</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">4</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>II. <a href="#ch2"><span class="smallcaps">Climate, Typhoons, Volcano</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">6</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>III. <a href="#ch3"><span class="smallcaps">At Worship</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">10</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>IV. <a href="#ch4"><span class="smallcaps">Houses</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">14</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>V. <a href="#ch5"><span class="smallcaps">Cocoa and Coffee</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">16</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>VI. <a href="#ch6"><span class="smallcaps">Hemp and Sugar</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">19</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>VII. <a href="#ch7"><span class="smallcaps">The Coconut</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">21</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>VIII. <a href="#ch8"><span class="smallcaps">Indigo; Mango; Guava; Durian</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">23</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>IX. <a href="#ch9"><span class="smallcaps">The Forest</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">26</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>X. <a href="#ch10"><span class="smallcaps">Minerals</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">29</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XI. <a href="#ch11"><span class="smallcaps">Water Buffalo</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">31</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XII. <a href="#ch12"><span class="smallcaps">Bats; Cattle; Horses; Cats; Monkeys</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">33</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XIII. <a href="#ch13"><span class="smallcaps">Flying Ants; Locusts</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">35</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XIV. <a href="#ch14"><span class="smallcaps">Boats and Fish</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">37</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XV. <a href="#ch15"><span class="smallcaps">Saw Mill; Mudsleighs; Wooden Plows</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">39</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XVI. <a href="#ch16"><span class="smallcaps">Umbrellas; Chairs; Milk-bottle; Milkman</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">42</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XVII. <a href="#ch17"><span class="smallcaps">Home Life</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">44</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XVIII. <a href="#ch18"><span class="smallcaps">Dress</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">47</span>
+
+</li>
+<li>XIX. <a href="#ch19"><span class="smallcaps">The &#8220;Adios&#8221; Feast</span></a> <span class="tocPagenum">49</span></li>
+</ol><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e337" href="#xd0e337">viii</a>]</span></div>
+<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><h2 class="normal">Persons</h2>
+<ol class="lsoff">
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Fil</span>, a Filipino boy.
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Filippa</span>, his sister.
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Favra</span>, her playmate.
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Moro</span>, Fil&#8217;s playmate, a Mohammedan.
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Fil&#8217;s Father.</span>
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Fil&#8217;s Mother.</span>
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">The Padre-priest.</span>
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">The Guest.</span>
+
+</li>
+<li><span class="smallcaps">Driver of the Water Buffalo Cart.</span></li>
+</ol>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="body"><span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb1" href="#pb1">1</a>]</span><div id="ch1" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0013.gif" alt="Ornament" width="615" height="320"></div>
+<h2 class="super">Fil and Filippa</h2>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter I</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Names</h2>
+<p>It took me over a month and a half to reach the summer islands that I sought. In three weeks I had gone through the Panama
+Canal and had reached San Francisco, and in four weeks more I had crossed the world&#8217;s widest, most peaceful, and bluest ocean,
+the Pacific.
+
+</p>
+<p>There, like a string of pearls hanging from the golden Equator, I found thousands of wonderful islands of all sizes, but only
+two of them are very large. I found also my new and kind young friends: Fil; his sister Filippa; Fil&#8217;s boy playmate named
+Moro, who came from the large southern island; their parents and friends; and the good Padre. Each one of them was shorter
+and darker than I. Yet they said to me: &#8220;The Stars and Stripes, now our flag also, makes us all American brothers, which we
+will be always.&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb2" href="#pb2">2</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;But how is it that you are called Filipinos, and live in the Philippine Islands?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil smiled and said: &#8220;Though I believe you know without asking me, I shall tell you to show that I know our romantic and interesting
+history.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hundreds of years ago, many years before America became a nation, the roving Spaniards discovered these islands, and named
+them the Philip-pines, in honor of their king Philip. When the American Admiral Dewey won these islands from Spain, our name
+was not changed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And our Christian names of Fil and Filippa have the same sound, and almost the same meaning, as Philippines,&#8221; added Filippa,
+her eyes smiling from under her cloud of beautiful hair,&#8212;hair longer and richer than an American girl&#8217;s hair,&#8212;and eyes darker
+and deeper than an American girl&#8217;s eyes. Perhaps her brows were a little bit flatter, and her nose was a little bit shorter
+and wider, than ours; but still she was pretty, especially when she smiled, for she had beautiful white teeth.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then I turned to Fil&#8217;s playmate, Moro, and asked him what his rolling name could mean. Moro was even more eager and darker
+than Fil. He replied, as he bravely touched his toy sword:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I, too, am of the Malay race, but of a different religion from Fil. I am a Mohammedan; <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb3" href="#pb3">3</a>]</span>that is, I reverence the same prophets whom the Turks worship. I come from the southern islands of the Philippines. There
+we spend most of our time roving in boats, and hunting over the hills. The first white man who met us saw that we were as
+dark, and had the same religion, as the tribes of Morocco in Africa. That perhaps is why I am called Moro, the Mohammedan,
+whose father fears no man; nor shall I, when I grow up.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But we are all friends now under a new, friendly flag; and we preach and practice love, instead of fear and fighting,&#8221; I
+replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa looked upon me with very happy eyes, when I said this; for a girl seems to know wiser ways of settling quarrels than
+do boys. A boy becomes excited; a girl thinks longer and acts more slowly. Certainly, Filippa&#8217;s gentle ways and the expression
+in her wonderfully deep eyes had more power with Fil and Moro than would strife and force.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Every name seems to have a pretty meaning in your Edenlike Philippines,&#8221; I remarked to Filippa&#8217;s playmate, Favra.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she replied, &#8220;the Padre (p&#259;&#8242;dr&#257;i), our pastor or cleric, who knows so much, tells me that my name means the friendly
+one who does favors.&#8221;
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb4" href="#pb4">4</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch2" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0016.gif" alt="Ornament" width="611" height="391"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter II</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Climate, Typhoons, Volcano</h2>
+<p>Next day I met the Padre. He was seated on a cane chair under a clump of whispering bamboos, which are giant grasses as tall
+and as strong as trees.
+
+</p>
+<p>We had hardly exchanged morning greetings, by saying &#8220;Buenos dias (boo &#257;i&#8242;nos d&#275;&#8242;as),&#8221; before we heard the children running
+along the white shell path, between the parklike tropical woods.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Every one awakens early in this wonderful climate, yet no one seems to be fully awake,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>The good Padre replied: &#8220;We are situated so near the Equator that the sun rises into full and bright daylight at once.&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb5" href="#pb5">5</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I seem to half dream all day. Is it the balmy warm air, or the scents of new flowers, or the equatorial sun?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre explained it by saying: &#8220;The sun throws more direct rays here; and they pierce through thin hats, and especially
+through black clothes. It is best to wear thick, white paper helmets. Moreover, our climate is more damp than is America&#8217;s
+climate.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is why you feel somewhat dreamy; and that is why everything in Nature, such as trees, fruits, flowers, ferns, and even
+animals and birds, grow so richly; and why the flowers shed influences and perfumes on the air. It all appeals to the warmth,
+color, and dreaminess in your happy imagination.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You think of stories of Eden or Paradise perhaps, where one imagines no hard winter, no bare trees or lawns, no whiteness.
+Everything is more beautiful to look upon here. The birds and winds and rains drop seeds; and at once lavish plants grow up.
+You will soon become used to our warmer climate, because you will need to eat less meat and butter, which is the fuel that
+keeps you warm. Instead you will eat more rice and fruit, which will give you strength, without heating you.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>At this moment, our little friend Moro pursed <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb6" href="#pb6">6</a>]</span>out his cheek and made a sound like a howling siren or a storm.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That noise reminds me of your awful typhoons. I passed through one of those whirling storms, just as I approached these islands
+of beauty,&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;Can you explain that great wonder?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is God, the Creator&#8217;s, magnificent but terrible act, such as you read about in the Book of Job or in the Psalms,&#8221; said
+the Padre, who crossed himself and bowed in piety. The good children, except Moro, all made the holy sign.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then the wise Padre continued: &#8220;Like great characters, for a long time gentle,&#8212;like peace which has covered the earth for
+years,&#8212;so, in our still, summer seas, suddenly in September, everything seems to contradict and be in rebellion, with a force
+unknown and unexpected before,&#8212;a force all the greater, because it was accumulating quietly for many months.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The heat becomes unbearable. The winds arise and sweep all one way, for a time. Then comes the black rain. The heavy typhoon
+soon begins to howl and to turn in a circle for two or three days. The wheeling storm moves from place to place, and finally
+dies down at sea.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa inquired: &#8220;Why is such a circular storm of the Oriental tropics, called a typhoon?&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb7" href="#pb7">7</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The Padre explained: &#8220;It is a word that we have taken from the Chinese, who live not many hours away from us, across the water
+to the northwest. &#8216;Tai&#8217; means great. &#8216;Fung&#8217; or &#8216;phoon,&#8217; means a wind. These storms sweep all the way from the Philippine Islands,
+across the seas to China. We like the expressive word which the Chinese have given these wind storms.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We have another natural wonder here, the volcano,&#8221; said Favra.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the Padre, &#8220;the Taal (T&auml;&#8242;al) and Mayon (M&auml; y[+o]n&#8242;) volcanoes once were smoking and fiery mountains, shaped
+like a cone. Years ago fire and lava, which is molten rock that has cooled, poured from their hot, pointed tops, ran down
+the sides, and destroyed everything in their path.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is lava?&#8221; asked Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre replied: &#8220;Even a volcano produces some good. This melted rock, when it becomes cold, forms a light, porous stone,
+which is used for polishing. You use it in your bathroom, to rub ink off your hands. Lava stone is easily ground into powder.
+When mixed with soap, this ground lava becomes a useful cleaning and polishing powder.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nature is always useful, as well as grand <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb8" href="#pb8">8</a>]</span>and beautiful,&#8221; remarked Fil&#8217;s father, who, dressed in a white silk suit and abac&aacute; hat, had just then come up the path.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where did you get that hat?&#8221; I laughingly asked Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you some other time. It is made from reeds, woven under water to keep them damp and pliant. The hat, therefore,
+is light, durable, and cool,&#8221; he replied.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb9" href="#pb9">9</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch3" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0021.gif" alt="Ornament" width="617" height="496"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter III</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">At Worship</h2>
+<p>When I arose next day and walked to the usual morning seat under the bamboos, I found only Moro there.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where is everybody else?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;At the Iglesia (ig l&#257;i s&#275;&#8242;a),&#8221; replied Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>I knew iglesia was the Philippine word for church; so I said to Moro: &#8220;Let us go there too, and see what they are all doing.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>After we had walked along the white shell paths, past the swaying fisher boats, over an ancient stone bridge, beneath tall
+palms and hanging vines and thick bananas, we beheld a wonderfully carved doorway, with statues in the niches. Over the tree
+tops, rose a noble <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb10" href="#pb10">10</a>]</span>white dome. From the open windows, the sweet singing of sacred music came to our ears. It was the well-known Mass or communion
+music of our own land, consisting of the beautiful strains of the Gloria, the Sanctus, and the Benedictus. As we came nearer,
+the breeze wafted us sweet incense from the altar, sandal and spice and flower and cinnamon scents.
+
+</p>
+<p>Though Moro was of a different faith, he took off his hat; so did I. The short Filipino men were dressed in white. The sweet-looking
+Filipino women were dressed in wide-striped skirts, and white waists, with very large collars starched stiff. Over their heads
+were large lace shawls called mantillas. They wore no hats, for they were very proud to show their fine long hair, filled
+with gold and jeweled pins.
+
+</p>
+<p>Every one dipped a finger in the water which was placed in a huge shell near the door. Then they bowed before the cross on
+the altar, which was shining at the end of the long aisle.
+
+</p>
+<p>In the front seats, under the high dome, we could see Filippa, her parents, and Favra. The colored light from the stained
+glass windows fell down in rays and clouds of beauty upon the altar boys, who wore robes of purple and white lace.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb11" href="#pb11">11</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The music of the blue and gold organ was subdued to a velvet whisper. Suddenly a boy arose behind the carved benches of the
+choir. He sang in a voice as clear as a bird&#8217;s:
+
+
+</p>
+<div class="&#xA; poem&#xA; ">
+<p class="line" style=""><span>&#8220;Come, Holy Spirit, Come.&#8221;</span></p>
+</div>
+<p>It was Fil who was singing. The censers were swinging. The organ began to drown even Fil&#8217;s clear voice. Then all the singers
+in the choir arose and filled the great dome, the long cathedral aisles, and even the palm grove outside the windows, with
+a great burst of sacred music:
+
+
+</p>
+<div class="&#xA; poem&#xA; ">
+<p class="line" style=""><span>&#8220;Holy, Holy is the Lord.&#8221;</span></p>
+</div>
+<p>It was all very solemn and very sweet. Far richer than in the homeland, seemed the music, because of the greater natural beauty
+of the tropics.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then our good friend, the Padre, arose, and spoke to his people, about charity and missions and peace and the stranger within
+the doors. He spoke so kindly that we all regretted war, and even hated the name of war. He asked us to give gifts for the
+wounded and the poor in other sad, colder, harder lands of hate and evil.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then he extended his hands. A great blessing <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb12" href="#pb12">12</a>]</span>seemed to flow down from the pulpit and even from the walls of the holy temple of peace, where the white altar, the golden
+cross, and the colored windows shone out as signs of purity and love.
+
+</p>
+<p>When the service was dismissed, we all walked home together.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;When are you going to be a Christian, little Moro?&#8221; inquired the kind Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am a Mohammedan. My people come from the southern Philippines. We worship one God, and Mohammed is his prophet. We make
+converts by the sword of force, rather than by preaching,&#8221; replied Moro, his eyes looking strange and brave.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me more about your religion. I have heard it is peculiar,&#8221; said Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;When we pray, we face Mecca, instead of Jerusalem or Rome. At Mecca in Arabia is the Holy Book, which we call the Koran.
+There, also, is the birthplace of Mohammed, our prophet. We believe in troops of angels above, as well as in &#8216;jinns,&#8217; or spirits,
+on earth, who are ready to help us. We have no altars in our mosques or churches.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our mosques are immense, plain structures, with only large Arabic letters of texts, painted on the walls and ceiling. Five
+times a day, the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb13" href="#pb13">13</a>]</span>Muezzin priest mounts the outside of the mosque tower, and calls the faithful to prayer. Each Mohammedan carries his own praying
+mat. After placing it on the tile floor beneath the thin pillars, he kneels and bows upon his mat, facing Mecca, where our
+prophet was born. We do not use music or organs.&#8221;
+
+
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0025.jpg" alt="Moro&#8217;s Father" width="465" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Moro&#8217;s Father</p>
+</div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+<p>All this Moro explained to us. What he told about his religion was very different, very interesting, very new.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;There are good things in your religion,&#8221; said the kind Padre, as he placed his hand gently on Moro&#8217;s dark head.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You despise the use of intoxicating liquor. You teach the duty of giving alms and of being charitable to the poor, the unfortunate,
+and the sick. You teach that every one is his brother&#8217;s keeper, and should help his brother to succeed in life. You teach
+that cleanliness and plain living are almost a part of religion. And we Christians agree with you, Moro, in all these grand
+ideas; for I think that, with all the sorrow now in the world, some of us have been too selfish, too luxurious, as though
+we thought we would live forever, and had no duty except to ourselves.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>I, too, felt conscience-stricken for my homeland and for myself, when I heard, in this odd <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb14" href="#pb14">14</a>]</span>and different quarter of our large world, the Filipino Padre&#8217;s true but kind moralizing over Moro&#8217;s different religion.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The bells! Oh, the silver-sweet bells!&#8221; exclaimed Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The bells of love and peace,&#8221; replied the Padre, as he glanced back at the twin towers of his white Iglesia (church) that
+shone over the grove of coconut palms.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb15" href="#pb15">15</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch4" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0029.gif" alt="Ornament" width="603" height="391"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter IV</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Houses</h2>
+<p>&#8220;What odd homes! toy houses toppling over from their stilts!&#8221; I exclaimed, as we passed a remarkable village. All the buildings
+were set up on poles, and had ladders for their dwellers to climb up to the high doors. The houses looked as though the lower
+story had been washed away, and only the second story remained. Over each window and door projected a very neat eyebrow, so
+to speak, either to shed rain or to keep out the sun.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is our famous nipa-thatch house used by the original Filipinos,&#8221; said Moro. &#8220;I can explain all about it, for all Moros,
+and many backward tribes, use these houses.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me everything,&#8221; I urged.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;First,&#8221; said Moro, &#8220;there is not one nail in a nipa-thatch house. Perched high in the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb16" href="#pb16">16</a>]</span>air on poles, as it is, you perhaps would think our typhoons would blow it over, just like a light bandbox.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I would think,&#8221; I replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; laughed bright Moro, &#8220;let me ask you a question. What makes a pole snap before the rush of a storm? What makes a brick
+wall give way before a sudden wind? And why does a tree or a reed bear the storm easily?&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because the tree and the reed are elastic enough to give a little,&#8212;to bend instead of breaking,&#8221; I answered.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is just it,&#8221; again laughed my little Master Moro. &#8220;Our small nipa hut, high in the air, sways a little, but rides out
+the storm. Every pole, every beam, and every rafter of the frame, is all made of hollow bamboo. Bamboo is stronger than steel,
+because it bends and gives, and then springs back. There is no nail in the house. Every crosspiece is tied with rattan, the
+same vine with which you make cane chairs; so you know how strong and elastic it is.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And of what are the sloping roofs and the side walls made?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of the famous nipa palm,&#8221; Moro replied. &#8220;It grows in swamps, often near the sea. It looks <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb17" href="#pb17">17</a>]</span>like a gigantic fern. Its wide leaves we lap one over another, and tie them to the bamboo frame by withes of tough cogon grass.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you not afraid of fire?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>Moro frankly said: &#8220;Yes, but as our house is so cheap, we can build a new one easily. However, in this warm climate we cook
+in a separate house, and we bathe out of doors. We do not smoke within our nipa houses; it is too dangerous.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell our friend from across the purple ocean how we use the bamboo and the nipa plants, for other purposes besides building,&#8221;
+remarked little Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>Moro continued: &#8220;From the sap of the nipa palm, we distill alcohol. From the hollow bamboo we make pipes for carrying water.
+We boil the tender new shoots of bamboo, and eat them like celery. We put a stopper into one joint of a hollowed bamboo, and
+use it for a bottle. The pliant bamboo root we make into whips. We make bridges, fences, window blinds, furniture, and carriages
+out of bamboo. We even make blow guns and shoot our arrows at birds, through the bamboo stalk.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;There are one hundred kinds of bamboo, and a thousand uses for the plant,&#8221; added Filippa.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb18" href="#pb18">18</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I should imagine that the bamboo is the skeleton or the framework, and that the nipa is the skin of the Philippine structure,&#8221;
+I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is the doctor&#8217;s way of drawing a figure of speech,&#8221; laughed the Padre.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb19" href="#pb19">19</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch5" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0033.gif" alt="Ornament" width="614" height="416"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter V</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Cocoa and Coffee</h2>
+<p>The next morning Filippa&#8217;s mother refreshed us all with a cup of fragrant cocoa, so that we might begin the day in good spirits.
+As I was sipping it, the Padre remarked in good humor:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did you Americans seize the Philippines merely for a cup of cocoa?&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>I replied laughingly: &#8220;This cup of cocoa is so good, that I certainly would try to seize the Philippines for it.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa&#8217;s mother and father both bowed and said I was complimentary, like a diplomat.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then I continued: &#8220;I am glad the Philippines are now ours, and yours too, because our money can help to develop the wonderful
+tropical products which do not grow in our colder America. I wish you would explain <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb20" href="#pb20">20</a>]</span>something about cocoa and coffee, which we prize very much and which we send our ships a long way to secure.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s father, who was a planter of wide acres, replied:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The cocoa bean and the coconut are two very different plants. Do not confuse them. The cocoa bean, out of which you grind
+cocoa powder and chocolate for a drink, for bonbons, and for puddings, comes out of a fruit shaped like a large red cucumber.
+This fruit grows on a tender bush, which must be shaded by a thick banana palm. In each fruit are twenty of these seeds, or
+cocoa beans.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;They have hard skins, and are very bitter and stimulating. When eaten, they excite the heart, and thus make a person feel
+active and alive. Soldiers and athletes eat them, to relieve fatigue. As soon as the fruit is gathered, the beans must be
+dried in the sun, or be roasted. The cocoa bean is very oily. To make cocoa, the oil is extracted, when the beans are ground
+into a paste. To make chocolate, the oil is not extracted.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never ate a cocoa bean which was sweet; but a chocolate-drop is sweet,&#8221; said Filippa, who had bought chocolate-drops in
+the candy stores.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb21" href="#pb21">21</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Her father explained: &#8220;We add sugar and vanilla, to the brown cocoa bean paste.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just think of practically growing chocolate bonbons on a tree, beneath the window of your nipa huts, in these wonderful Philippine
+Islands,&#8221; I added, and every one smiled.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is really true, when one adds the sugar,&#8221; remarked the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now tell me please about coffee, also,&#8221; I begged.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s father continued:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The coffee comes from another low bush. You choose a hillside, for, although the plant likes our heavy rains in the Philippines,
+it does not like to keep its roots long in water. It wants to drain them and to feel the warm sun. The leaves are long and
+glossy; the blossoms are waxy white. The fragrance is richer than rose sweetened with sugar. The fruit is like a scarlet cherry;
+each contains two seeds. These two seeds are the coffee bean of commerce and of the breakfast table. They are ground in a
+small mill, as you know.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;How were the beans first discovered?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s father smiled and told this story: &#8220;One day a shepherd noticed that his goats, which had eaten the cherries off a coffee
+bush, danced <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb22" href="#pb22">22</a>]</span>about in high excitement as though they, instead of their master, were going to a fiesta. Then the shepherd ate the berries,
+too, and felt stimulated himself. That is how coffee in time came to our breakfast table. Instead of eating the berry, we
+grind it and steep it, and drink the liquor.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But, father, the seeds are light colored, and not deep brown, when you open the fruit,&#8221; said Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s father. &#8220;We roast the seeds in an oven, to get rid of the moisture and to preserve and ripen the stimulating
+oils.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you all;&#8221; I exclaimed, &#8220;now I will behold a whole tropical story of geography and commerce, every time I look into
+a grocer&#8217;s window at home.&#8221;
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb23" href="#pb23">23</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch6" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0037.gif" alt="Ornament" width="621" height="516"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter VI</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Hemp and Sugar</h2>
+<p>&#8220;However, the richest products of our Philippine Islands are abaca (ab&#8242;aca) and sugar,&#8221; said the fatherly Padre next morning,
+when I met him under the shade of the bamboos and the madre trees.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sure you do not know what abac&aacute; is,&#8221; laughed Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I guess from its name that it may be a cousin of tobacco; it sounds like it: abac&aacute;,&#8212;tobacco.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Names are sometimes misleading,&#8221; replied the Padre. &#8220;The manila hemp, or abac&aacute; plant, is a nearer cousin of the banana palm.
+You <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb24" href="#pb24">24</a>]</span>cannot make a sail or tie up a bag of potatoes, without using our manila hemp, or abac&aacute;. It is the strongest fiber known;
+it does not weaken in water. The great hawsers that are used to pull the great ships, are made out of it. It all comes from
+the leaf of this Philippine palm.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wonderful and beautiful and useful islands,&#8221; I confessed. &#8220;But how do you make a leaf into a cord, a hawser, a sail, or a
+bag?&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre continued: &#8220;This big plant with leaves taller than a man, grows on a hill. We do not let it flower. The huge leaves
+are cut near the root, and new leaves grow up at once. All through the leaf run long tough ribs. We drag this over a big rough
+knife that is fastened in a board; and thus we scrape away the soft pulp without breaking the fiber. The wet fibers, we hang
+over a fence in the sun, to dry.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then we press the fibers all together, and ship them to you in big heavy bales, in the bottom of a ship. You weave the bales
+of fiber into bags, cloth, hawser ropes, canvas, tents, and cordage. We Filipinos, also, split the fiber and weave it into
+many kinds of cloth. Sometimes we mix silk or cotton with the abac&aacute; hemp.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sure our friend would like to learn about sugar,&#8221; remarked Fil, who had a sweet tooth for candy.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb25" href="#pb25">25</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s father took up this part of the story, and said:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sugar of course comes from a sweet cane, which is grown on high land. The cane is cut down. A pony or a water buffalo is
+harnessed to a roller. We feed the ripened cane into the rollers. As the animal drives this roller around, the sugar cane
+is pressed through. The sweet juice is caught and put into kettles. This juice is heated several times, and stirred, and purified
+by bone charcoal. The white crystals separate from the dark molasses sirup. We sometimes feed the molasses to cattle and pigs,
+to make them fat for market.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s eyes looked very longingly as he listened to this tale of good things; so I passed him a penny or two.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is not sugar made also from very sweet, dark beets?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not in these islands,&#8221; replied the Padre. &#8220;We find that the sugar cane gives a sweeter and a more nutritious product. The
+beet sugar is made in Europe and in the western states of America.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you do with the pressed sugar cane?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We spread it out in the sun and dry it in large yards. It still contains much sugar. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb26" href="#pb26">26</a>]</span>We use it for fuel, to light the fires under the kettles.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a waste!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;You should use oil or gas for fuel, and should press every drop of sugar out of that valuable
+cane. Waste not; want not, is as good a maxim for a nation as for a boy.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you are always that serious, like a lecturer, the children may not like you so well,&#8221; remarked the gentle Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not at all,&#8221; replied Fil and Moro and Filippa and Favra, who perhaps remembered the pennies I had given to them. Then I hummed
+as we went home to have lunch, or &#8220;tiffin,&#8221; as they call it:
+
+
+</p>
+<div class="&#xA; poem&#xA; ">
+<p class="line" style=""><span>&#8220;All lectures and no candy or fun
+</span></p>
+<p class="line" style=""><span>Make Moro and Fil dull boys.&#8221;</span></p>
+</div><span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb27" href="#pb27">27</a>]</span></div>
+<div id="ch7" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0041.gif" alt="Ornament" width="618" height="473"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter VII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">The Coconut Tree</h2>
+<p>Moro was always up to tricks. I noticed that he was whispering something to Filippa who was laughing.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell it out,&#8221; demanded Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The bad boy said the coconut, which we are trying to break, is a hairy monkey&#8217;s head dried.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let me see it,&#8221; I demanded.
+
+</p>
+<p>Surely enough, there was plainly marked a monkey&#8217;s eyes and mouth and hair and nose.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll soon settle this,&#8221; said Fil, who dashed the coconut on a stone, broke the hard shell, wasted half the sweet milk,&#8212;exposing
+the white, fragrant meat.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did you know that the coconut furnishes <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb28" href="#pb28">28</a>]</span>cloth, mats, roofs, fuel, soap oil, candy, puddings, cups, dyes, lamp oil, butter, candles, axle grease, ropes, brushes, furniture,
+shade, food, drink, and liquor to intoxicate,&#8221; asked Filippa&#8217;s mother, who was as wise as Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please go slowly,&#8221; I remarked, &#8220;for you are making me think that these islands are Paradise; that you touch some button,
+and every wish comes true, as in the fairy stories. In our country, a tree furnishes only lumber; or sometimes nuts or sugar
+in addition, but never over two things at once. Now you would have me believe that one slim tree with only a tuft of leaves
+at the top, furnishes you twenty useful and rich products. This is really too much to believe, though I ask you to forgive
+me for being so frank.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa&#8217;s mother replied: &#8220;These are the gardens of the sunny Equator; and you can, therefore, expect wonderful things. The
+rough covering of the shell is woven into mats, brushes, ropes, and bags. The fibers of the leaves make a fine cloth. The
+dried leaves make a roof-thatch. The trunk makes foundation poles. The coconut itself is fruit and drink. When the white meat
+is dried, it is shredded for pastry and candy. When the coconut meat is pressed, the oil extracted is used for fuel, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb29" href="#pb29">29</a>]</span>light, hair pomades, butter, candles, and grease. It is used also in making the best hand soaps; in fact, it makes the only
+soap that can be used with salt sea water.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please let me tell all its other valuable qualities,&#8221; said Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you cut a coconut in half, you have two cups, or dishes. You can draw the milk through a small hole, plug the hole, and
+use the shell as a float. If you burn the shell, you can make a deep dye from the ashes,&#8212;a dye that will not fade or wash
+out.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you more about it,&#8221; Moro eagerly intruded. &#8220;The oddest use for a smoothed half of a coconut shell, is to use it
+as a rat-guard, to shed off rats from our strings of dried fruit hanging from the roof. As the rat comes down the rattan rope,
+the halved coconut shell tips, and down he falls from its smooth surface, to the floor, and misses the hanging fruit.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you climb up the high coconut tree, and cut a hole in the flowering stalk, the juice will run out. This is called the
+delicious &#8216;tuba&#8217; liquor, and we catch it in cups made from half of a coconut shell.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And if you ferment and distill that liquor,&#8221; said the Padre, &#8220;you have the cocoa wine which is much used for medicine in
+America.&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb30" href="#pb30">30</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Filippa&#8217;s mother then remarked: &#8220;I have seen coconut oil, placed in a coconut shell, burning along a coconut wick, as a lamp,
+in a house built out of coconut stems and leaves, under a coconut grove; and the Filipino family were eating coconuts, and
+drinking coconut &#8216;tuba&#8217; juice, at a table made from coconut stalks.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That must have been in Coconutville, when a coconut clock was striking, under a coconut moon,&#8221; laughed Fil, who sometimes
+was full of smart wit.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what I have said is exactly and solemnly true,&#8221; replied his gentle mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I understand it now,&#8221; I replied, &#8220;and I see how one coconut tree would make me richer than a whole forest of poplar or oak
+trees at home.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Hungry Moro remarked: &#8220;I wish that this moment I had coconut shredded over some Bebinka cakes.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are Bebinka cakes?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;They are pancakes made from fermented corn and rice dough, mixed. Every Filipino is fond of them,&#8221; explained Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb31" href="#pb31">31</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch8" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0045.gif" alt="Ornament" width="615" height="413"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter VIII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Indigo, Mango, Guava, Durian</h2>
+<p>&#8220;If you will remain in our sunnier Philippines, I&#8217;ll tell you about plants and flowers and fruits, that you have never even
+heard about,&#8221; said sunny little Filippa, who herself was as beautiful as a flower, and as soft to touch as a fruit.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell about our indigo,&#8221; suggested her brother Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa looked very wise, pointed to her indigo skirt, and continued: &#8220;You get your dyes from the benzene of coal tar, but
+they do not stand washing or sunlight, as well as our bright and strong vegetable dyes. We take our indigo plant, and steep
+the leaves in water for twelve hours, in a stone tank. Then Fil drains off the yellow liquor. This soon turns green. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb32" href="#pb32">32</a>]</span>Then blue sediment settles in Nature&#8217;s wonderful chemical way, under the strong sunlight. We drain off the water, and cut
+the indigo cakes into cubes.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well told,&#8221; remarked Filippa&#8217;s mother. &#8220;This is a dye which will not fade. It lasts as long as the gown. Now, Moro,
+I would like you to tell about mangoes and guavas and durians; for you are always eating them.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Moro laughed, and began to throw sticks up into a tall tree.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are you doing? Why don&#8217;t you answer?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m trying to knock down a custard, one foot long and half a foot deep,&#8221; he replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Such nonsense. Custards in my country are made out of eggs and are baked in ovens,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not this better kind,&#8221; replied Moro, who brought down a huge fruit, all covered with sharp spurs and spikes, sharper and
+harder than rose-thorns.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nature has kept her rich custard guarded by spikes and by an awful odor,&#8221; remarked Fil&#8217;s father, as he broke open the thick
+skin with an ax.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But it&#8217;s worth the trouble,&#8221; said Moro, who pointed out the heart of the fruit, which <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb33" href="#pb33">33</a>]</span>truly was one solid, delicious natural custard, one foot long,&#8212;enough for a whole Filipino family.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;The monkeys know how to open the spiked fruit better than you do,&#8221; said Fil. &#8220;They throw them from the high branches. The
+fruit breaks open on the ground. Then the wild monkeys race down the tree, and eat up the custard durian. Who said that a
+monkey does not think?&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Everybody laughed at this odd but true tale of the remarkable Philippines.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know something about guava, for I eat guava jelly with my turkey and venison at home, but I never knew that it came from
+the far-away Philippine Islands. Is it a root or a seed?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no!&#8221; replied Moro. &#8220;It&#8217;s a fruit taken from that low tree over there. The flowers are white. The fruit, shaped like a
+pear, is yellow.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What makes the delightful jelly red?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps the cooking, or the sugar that is added,&#8221; suggested Fil&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have not yet told about mangoes. Please hand our friend one,&#8221; said Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>Moro climbed up and up a dizzy height, into an evergreen tree sixty feet high. He brought <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb34" href="#pb34">34</a>]</span>down in his pockets, several fruits as large as cucumbers, only the colors were red and yellow.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Eat one. They are the most delicious and juicy fruit known in the whole world,&#8212;just like wine,&#8221; said Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>I bit eagerly into one, and at once threw it far away. Everybody laughed at my strange action.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, it&#8217;s turpentine; it&#8217;s paint,&#8221; I said. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t think you&#8217;d do this to me, Moro.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Swallow it anyway. That turpentine smell lasts only a second,&#8221; explained Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>I tried another mango, and found it to be the juiciest and sweetest fruit that I ever ate, dripping wine, full of refreshment
+in a hot climate, food and drink and medicine in one.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you do with its large seed, as hard as iron?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll show you,&#8221; replied Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>The bright boy at once lighted a fire, and roasted the hard seed in the ashes. Then he brushed and washed it clean; and handed
+it to me, when it became somewhat cool, saying: &#8220;Eat it too; it is really chocolate toast now.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>And such I found it to be.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your mango then is a whole breakfast,&#8212;toast, drink, and fruit,&#8221; I said.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb35" href="#pb35">35</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch9" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0049.gif" alt="Ornament" width="616" height="467"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter IX</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">The Forest</h2>
+<p>When we all met next morning, again under the bamboo grove, the good Padre said:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you were lost in your woods at home, you would soon wander and die; but if you were lost here, you could live for years.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then let us go into such a forest of Eden,&#8221; I replied, and held out my hands to Fil and Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>Away we went down the white shell road across the canal; and soon we were lost among the many trees, palms, and vines.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre pointed to the coconut tree and the nipa palm, and said: &#8220;As we already have told you, they would afford you a house,
+food, drink, light, and soap.&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb36" href="#pb36">36</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What is this great hard tree?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre explained: &#8220;That&#8217;s the valuable mahogany. Thin strips of it are polished, and used to cover the woodwork of your
+piano and bureau at home.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And this other wonderful, new tree?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is the molave. It is so hard that sea worms and white ants cannot bore into it. So it is good for boats, wharves, and
+frames for big buildings,&#8221; replied the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here is a pretty tree,&#8221; remarked Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You should think so,&#8221; answered her father. &#8220;It is the lanete. Its wood is so strong and pliable, that your violin was made
+from part of one.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s a skipping rope,&#8221; exclaimed Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, a boat rope,&#8221; explained Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is really the bejuco rattan vine,&#8221; remarked the Padre, who knew botany and the lore of nature. &#8220;It is three hundred
+feet long, as long as a city block, if you pull it out of the jungle and away from the tree tops, where it has climbed like
+a huge snake. We can use it for bridge or carriage ropes, or we can divide the strands and make cloth, or hats, or cord out
+of it.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What gorgeous and sweet-scented flowers,&#8221; exclaimed Filippa, pointing to a great tree.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb37" href="#pb37">37</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;That is the Ylang,&#8221; said the Padre. &#8220;Our friend uses its perfume on his handkerchief; but he did not know, perhaps, that
+the flower grew in the far-away Philippines. It has the deepest fragrance of any flower, whether on plant, bush, or tree.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What can its strange name mean?&#8221; I inquired; for I seemed to have no acquaintance with nature at all, in this wonderfully
+different land.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre, who knew many languages, explained: &#8220;It is a Malay word which means, &#8216;The chief flower of all flowers&#8217;; and such
+I think it really is. We capture the fragrance by distilling the flowers, and mixing pure alcohol with the essence.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you were ill in the forest, and caught fever from the mosquitoes and ants that stung you, the bark of this tree would
+cure you, just as quinine does,&#8221; continued the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it the little quinine, or cinchona, tree?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, it is a sister tree. We call it &#8216;Dita&#8217; in our language.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I said our forests would house and feed you. Now I&#8217;ll show you how they would also clothe you. Please show me your handkerchief,
+Filippa,&#8221; said the Padre.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb38" href="#pb38">38</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Filippa handed him a little square of linen cloth, so thin and watery in color, or absence of color, that I could look through
+it.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;In your country, that little handkerchief would be worth twenty-five dollars. It is woven from the very thin fibers drawn
+from pineapple leaves, and is called Pina cloth, or Pina linen.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Filippa&#8217;s mother added: &#8220;It is finer than silk or hemp linen. We make our best shiny gowns and laces out of it. Because it
+is so fine, it takes a long time to get enough threads to weave and work it together. The time spent in making it, explains
+its great cost.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see now why Filippa is promised a Pina gown for our coming feast, or fiesta day, that you kindly promise to give in my
+honor before I go away. It certainly is a cloth fit for a queen,&#8221; I replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh! when will the feast day come?&#8221; Filippa eagerly inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Soon,&#8221; laughed her mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here is a more wonderful tree, from the gum of which we make automobile tires, rubber heels, elastic bands, hot water bags,
+rain coats, rubber shoes, hose, and so on,&#8221; exclaimed the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>I looked; and surely enough, there was the identical rubber tree which we see in florists&#8217; <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb39" href="#pb39">39</a>]</span>shops or in the greenhouse at home; only this tree was larger. Its thick leaves were nearly as large as a hat.
+
+
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0053.jpg" alt="Weaving" width="484" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Weaving</p>
+</div><p>
+
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We cut a hole in the bark, and, when the yellow gum oozes out, we boil it down thick, till it is dark colored. Then we mix
+it with chalk and sulphur; and behold, afterwards we roll out your automobile tire,&#8221; explained the wise Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Could you pull the rubber tree out as high as the stars, and would it snap back again?&#8221; asked joking Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop your joking,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s mother. &#8220;You know very well that the rubber tree itself is not pure gum, any more than the
+maple tree in America is pure sugar. It is the gum of the rubber tree that becomes the rubber.&#8221;
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb40" href="#pb40">40</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch10" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0056.gif" alt="Ornament" width="611" height="166"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter X</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Minerals</h2>
+<p>&#8220;It is not only what towers above us, that makes our islands rich. Dig at your feet, and you will find valuable minerals!
+Magellan, the Spaniard, first discovered the Philippine Islands while he was on a search for gold, though I think a rubber
+tree, or a bamboo, is more valuable than gold,&#8221; said the wise Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We get gold in two ways,&#8221; explained Fil. &#8220;We wash it from scooped-up gravel, and we break it out of rock with a hammer.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And how do you melt your iron and copper?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We dig coal, and use bamboo pipes and a bellows to make the draft. We put the ore into a clay kettle, and melt the rock out
+of it. Then, when the iron is pure, we heat it again until it is red, and beat it with hammers into shapes. Thus we make it
+into wheels, spears, axes, and so on,&#8221; explained Fil, who had watched the workmen at their labors.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know little about practical, mechanical affairs; tell me more,&#8221; urged Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We have petroleum oil, just as America has; also, lead and paint ores. We have <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb41" href="#pb41">41</a>]</span>burnt-out volcano hills, composed of sulphur down into their deep hearts.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is like a very bad place, way down below, that I have read about,&#8221; interrupted Moro; and Fil&#8217;s mother and the Padre
+shook their fingers at him for joking.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil continued: &#8220;We have beautiful marble quarries, out of which we can carve statues and table tops, and tops for seats. Our
+marble is full of colored veins just like jewels. Then we also have gypsum mines, which furnish both fertilizer for land,
+to make crops grow high, and plaster of Paris, out of which we make pretty white statues.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wonderful!&#8221; I said, &#8220;I never thought of all this, when at home I bought the lovely white statues of lions and birds, from
+the vendor man with the basketful, on our street corner.&#8221;
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb42" href="#pb42">42</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch11" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0058.gif" alt="Ornament" width="605" height="456"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XI</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Water Buffalo</h2>
+<p>We were all so tired when we came out of the wood to the canal, that Fil&#8217;s father told us to wait until a buffalo cart came
+down the white shell road.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;A buffalo cart!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid to ride in that. We used to shoot buffaloes in our country, and the few now remaining
+we guard behind iron fences in zoo gardens.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here he comes!&#8221; exclaimed Fil and Moro together.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Boys, boys, be careful!&#8221; I cried.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let us frighten our guest,&#8221; whispered Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>The buffalo sniffed at me, a stranger, and would have charged with his head down; but <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb43" href="#pb43">43</a>]</span>the man who had a rope tied to a ring in the buffalo&#8217;s soft nose, pulled the animal back.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Get down, you foolish boy!&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>But before I could stop him, brave little Moro had climbed up between the fierce looking animal&#8217;s thick, long, sweeping horns,
+which extended from his large head back to his shoulders.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please get into the cart, everybody,&#8221; Fil&#8217;s father ordered, in a hospitable manner, bowing and waving his arm. It was indeed
+a high step.
+
+</p>
+<p>The cart had solid wooden wheels, made out of one thick section that had been cut from a mahogany tree. There was no iron
+rim around the edge of the wheel. The sides of the cart, however, were light, as they were made from bamboo posts with rattan
+vine woven between them.
+
+</p>
+<p>The driver sat on the shafts, and directed the heavy animal, just as much by words as by pulling the long rope.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you call these strong animals water buffaloes?&#8221; I asked Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because, to escape the flies and the heat, the animal refuses to work during the heat of the day, and rushes off into a stream,
+or into the sea, to cover himself with mud and sand <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb44" href="#pb44">44</a>]</span>and water and weeds. All you can see above the stirred-up water are his large eyes and two wicked looking horns, which are
+as thick as a branch of a tree.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What an odd tail he has, much like a mule&#8217;s hairless tail. It looks like a piece of hose-pipe,&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>Moro, way up on the buffalo&#8217;s neck, heard me and laughed: &#8220;He can&#8217;t reach me with his rubber tail.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;ll reach you, Sir, if you don&#8217;t get down soon from your dangerous perch,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>The Padre explained: &#8220;We sometimes call these animals carabao. We use them for plowing, for drawing our sugar to market, for
+pressing our hemp mill, for turning our water wheels and sugar rollers, for pulling the huge logs of hardwood out of the thick
+forest. When the roads are too muddy for wheeled carts, we make a mud sleigh with runners; and the water buffalo with his
+thick hoofs pulls our loads of rice bags through the ooze.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And we eat him too, though his steaks are tougher than cow meat,&#8221; laughed Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And we make taws and whips out of his thick hide to correct little boys, if they have too much to say sometimes,&#8221; remarked
+Fil&#8217;s <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb45" href="#pb45">45</a>]</span>father, who winked at me, showing that his words were more severe than were his intentions or acts. Like the terrier, he just
+liked to frighten people; his bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is.
+
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb46" href="#pb46">46</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch12" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0062.gif" alt="Ornament" width="616" height="212"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Bats; Cattle; Horses; Cats; Monkeys</h2>
+<p>&#8220;Let us stop here,&#8221; begged Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>The driver, who wore a mushroom-shaped bamboo hat, pulled the water buffalo to a stop. All, except Filippa and Favra, got
+off at the mouth of a cave.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t go in or near it,&#8221; exclaimed Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Girls are afraid of real things, of imaginary noises, and even of unreal shadows,&#8221; jeered Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No wonder, if you refer to this damp cave,&#8221; remarked Fil&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>Creeping up quietly to the entrance, Fil and Moro threw stones and oranges and mangoes up to the echoing roof.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lie down quick,&#8221; shouted Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>We had need to stoop, for there was a whirring in the roof of the cave and over its mouth, like the sound of birds or aeroplanes.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are they, owls or eagles?&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Furry fruit-bats, as large as flying cats,&#8221; laughed Fil, who was proud of his secret cave and of his discovery.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb47" href="#pb47">47</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t really mean to say that those large flying things have fur, and eat fruit?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exactly,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s father. &#8220;These are the large Philippine bats. The wings of some of them are three feet across. Ladies
+use their fur to decorate gowns. The bats live on fruit, just as monkeys do; only the bats eat at dusk, and sleep during the
+day. That is why we caught them napping, by going to the cave in daylight.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wonderful country! Wonderful new kinds of life! I notice too that your cattle have humps on their shoulders,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s father, &#8220;our cattle, though smaller than yours, have high humps on their shoulders. They are of the Indian
+and Chinese breed; not of the English breed. But they are very good animals and have beautiful soft eyes, which seem to cry
+and plead for pity. We use them also to draw our carts.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I notice that others of the Philippine animals are also of the toy order; tiny but lovely specimens, like your spirited but
+small, black horses,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father, &#8220;our Malay horses, just like the Chinese horses, are more like spirited little ponies. They have
+hard mouths, but when they know you and are well treated, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb48" href="#pb48">48</a>]</span>they obey well. Some day, when you ride over the hills on one, you will see how sure-footed they are on the trails; as safe
+as mountain goats. Your larger horses would tumble over in those difficult places.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>One of the disturbed bats had settled in a tree. He was clinging upside down, with his wings folded over his eyes. Up the
+trunk of the tree, the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That cat should be a fisherman,&#8221; I exclaimed in a joking manner.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Fil, &#8220;some of our yellow cats have odd, hooked tails, just like monkey tails.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Maybe they once hung from tree branches by their tails, along with the furry monkeys,&#8221; suggested Moro, who often thought
+of the odd side of things.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a gripping tale you are telling,&#8221; added Fil, who indulged in roguish puns.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats,&#8221; said Moro.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Imagination has as much as taste to do with food; and, unless you call my next stewed monkey dish, deer or lamb, I won&#8217;t
+eat it,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil and Moro laughed and winked; for they had planned this true but strange story to make me feel uncomfortable for a minute.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb49" href="#pb49">49</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch13" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0065.gif" alt="Ornament" width="607" height="184"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XIII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Flying Ants and Locusts</h2>
+<p>We all climbed back into the buffalo-wagon, to go homeward. On the way, we passed a house which had collapsed in the middle,
+as though a great weight had broken its backbone.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;A blind, flying ant did that,&#8221; said Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, Fil, you really think I&#8217;m from the backwoods; you wish me to believe impossible tales,&#8221; I replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not a bit of it,&#8221; said Fil. &#8220;A flying white ant broke the thick beams of that big building, just as though a mountain fell
+on it, or as if an earthquake had rent it.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, then, did they not stop the ants, the silly, lazy people?&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because they couldn&#8217;t see or hear them,&#8221; said Fil. &#8220;You see, it happens in this way. Our deadly white ant flies in a cloud
+of ants. When he reaches a house, he bores inside; then he is happy. He feels his way. He does not need to see. He just follows
+his nose, so to speak.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;His sense of smell, perhaps, draws him to the lumber of the house on which he lives. He does not like air. So, when he reaches
+a beam, he <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb50" href="#pb50">50</a>]</span>and all the other brother ants eat out the heart of it; but they do not break the shell, which is painted. The people in the
+house do not know anything about this, for the ants of course make no noise, and the painted outside surface of the beam is
+unbroken.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Suddenly there is a strain during a typhoon, or a jar is caused by some person walking overhead; and down comes the whole
+house, like a person whose bones suddenly give way and become powder. The ants have escaped, because they have eaten the whole
+beam and have gone elsewhere for food.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t you catch and destroy such awful pests?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! It&#8217;s great fun,&#8221; replied Filippa. We place a pail of water in a dark place, and light a candle which floats on a
+saucer. The ants fly to the light. Their wings are burnt off; and, silly, half-blind things, they all get drowned or wet,
+so that we can gather and destroy them.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;They can nip you, too,&#8221; said Moro, who was slapping at something on his hand.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some people in the Philippines eat insects&#8212;the locusts. They fry them in <span class="corr" id="xd0e1063" title="Source: cocoanut">coconut</span> oil. Did you ever hear of such a wonder?&#8221; asked Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come to think of it, yes; for in the Bible <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb51" href="#pb51">51</a>]</span>it says that the food of John the Baptist, the great prophet, was locusts and wild honey, when he was in distress in the wilderness.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What does <i>locust</i> mean?&#8221; asked the wise Padre. Nobody seemed to know.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It means leaping,&#8221; said the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s how we catch them,&#8221; said Fil. &#8220;Before their wings grow, they jump. We dig deep ditches and chase them by beating drums,
+for they dislike noise. They jump and fall into the ditch, which, however, is too high for them to jump out of. Then we pour
+on oil and burn them.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;If we didn&#8217;t, they&#8217;d eat up all our crops,&#8221; remarked the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know a bird that catches them. I&#8217;ve seen it,&#8221; said Fil, whose eyes were very sharp, like a boy scout in the woods.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What kind of a bird?&#8221; inquired Filippa, who loved bird pets.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;A kind of Chinese ground-lark. It has large eyes and a long bill, and its feathers are spotted,&#8221; replied Fil.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb52" href="#pb52">52</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch14" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0068.gif" alt="Ornament" width="621" height="413"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XIV</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Boats and Fish</h2>
+<p>We were passing over the bridge that carried the road over an arm of the sea,&#8212;the purple sea, which had a white foam-edge.
+
+</p>
+<p>I noticed a boat moving against the tide. It had no engine, no sails, no rowers at the oarlocks. Only one man was on deck,
+leaning on a long pole. He walked slowly from the front to the back of the boat, still leaning on the long pole.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s another wonder of your marvelous Philippines&#8212;a boat moving without exerting power,&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil looked at Moro and smiled. I saw that they both pitied my ignorance in a strange land. Then Fil said kindly:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you see the man walking steadily <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb53" href="#pb53">53</a>]</span>along the running board, from the front to the back of the boat? Well, he is pushing on a long pole, and that power moves
+the boat against the tide. The pole reaches down to the bottom, through the shallow water. If the boat is loaded, and if the
+cargo is very heavy, two men push on each pole. The pole is a thick bamboo stick.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I also notice a curved deck or covering, laid over the boats,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that is a roof, or thatch, made out of nipa palm leaves tied on to bamboo sticks,&#8221; Fil explained.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please look!&#8221; said sweet little Filippa. &#8220;Out there on the purple ocean is a more wonderful boat still.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>I looked. Oddest of sights! A boat shaped like a long leaf was scudding before the wind. The one sail seemed to pull the boat
+over from the wind. No one was really in the boat. But sitting far out, on a bamboo out-rigger, high into the wind-side, above
+the water, a sailor was balancing the boat and holding the sail by a long rope. Only on one side of the boat was there a bamboo
+pole fixed lengthways. It did not seem to be a well-balanced boat, yet it sailed along at a great speed; and risky as the
+sport seemed, the sailor sat perfectly safe on <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb54" href="#pb54">54</a>]</span>his high and dangerous looking perch, above the water.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What kind of boat is that?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;An out-rigger boat. Some people call it a dug-out boat,&#8221; replied Filippa.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you more about it,&#8221; added Fil. &#8220;The boat itself is half of a solid log, hollowed out by fire and axe and knife.
+It is chipped and scraped smooth on the outside, and the ends are pointed. If the wind dies down, the sailor has to paddle
+the heavy boat home. Then he sits over on the side opposite the out-rigger, so as to balance it. But when he has hoisted sail,
+he sits on the out-rigger, as the sail balances the boat on the sailing side, opposite the wind. The boat easily rolls over,
+because it has no sharp keel going down into the water. But it is swifter before the wind, just because it has no keel to
+keep it back.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very clever are your Filipino sailors,&#8221; I admitted. &#8220;Tell me if the boats are used for other purposes than sport.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; said quiet little Favra, Filippa&#8217;s chum. &#8220;The sailors fish in them and bring us home fish with names as wonderful
+as are their colors.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me the names, please,&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>Favra slowly thought of three and replied: <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb55" href="#pb55">55</a>]</span>&#8220;The pompano, all silver, gold, and purple, and as wide as it is long; the fighting barracuda, so hard to bring in to the
+boat; and the leaping tuna, that jumps out of the water and out of the boat perhaps.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil added: &#8220;Then there&#8217;s the bonito, as big as a pig, though its name jokingly means &#8216;good little one&#8217;; the sail fish which
+lifts its fin into the wind; and the garoupa.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wonderful names,&#8221; I admitted.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And all wonderfully good to eat,&#8221; added Moro, who was often thinking of dinners and feasts.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb56" href="#pb56">56</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch15" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0072.gif" alt="Ornament" width="617" height="408"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XV</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Saw Mill; Mud Sleighs; Wooden Plows</h2>
+<p>&#8220;At what are you going to earn your living when you grow up, Fil?&#8221; asked the Padre, who was his teacher, when we all met again
+under the whispering bamboos next morning.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil thought a minute, pursed his chest out like a pouter pigeon, and replied to the great admiration of Filippa, who was a
+very loyal sister:
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall be a Senator, or President.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come down from the clouds, Master Fil,&#8221; replied his father; &#8220;stop dreaming and say something practical. There can be only
+one President and only a few score Senators. So if every one had your aims, millions would starve. Yet millions are working
+happily, and earning wages which buy them what they need, if their ideas are not too selfish. They do not need to bow to wretched,
+cringing politics.&#8221;
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb57" href="#pb57">57</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;At what do they work?&#8221; eagerly inquired Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come and see,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father and the Padre together. We all followed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s a lumber yard; let us go in,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That man on top of that huge, uplifted log will topple off, and that man underneath will get his eyes filled with sawdust,&#8221;
+I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s our way of sawing lumber,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s father. &#8220;We lift up one end of the log. One man gets on top and the other
+man below; and between them they pull up and down the heavy saw, until half of the log all feathers out into many boards.
+Then they raise the other end, and the men saw down to meet those first cuts, while board after board falls down.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you have round saws of steel, driven by machinery?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not always,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father. &#8220;The wages here are so low that we can afford to hire men to do handwork. This gives many
+men work, and keeps them from being idle and discontented.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But here is one very round log which they are sawing across grain, into round wheels; and they are boring one hole into the
+center,&#8221; I exclaimed.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb58" href="#pb58">58</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;They really are wheels for buffalo carts. Don&#8217;t you remember your ride the other day?&#8221; asked Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>I did remember the heavy, creaking wheel, made of one solid piece of wood.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;They never need an iron rim,&#8221; added Fil&#8217;s father; &#8220;and so are not as heavy as they look.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, here&#8217;s a low sleigh, being made out of bamboo poles, runners and boards. Do you have winter here after all?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, nothing but hottest summer always. But we have much rain, and our roads are not all paved with rock,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s
+father. &#8220;If we used those high wheels on the muddy roads, they would sink so far down that the buffalo or bullock could not
+pull out the cart that was loaded with rice or sugar.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you see, the sleigh slips more easily through the slippery mud,&#8221; added Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what if you fell off, a mile from a crossing?&#8221; I asked laughingly.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he jokes too, and you don&#8217;t check him,&#8221; remarked Fil, who looked at his father. Fil&#8217;s father smiled.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is this tough, crooked elbow stick, fixed to a long pole?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;A plow,&#8221; answered Fil wisely:
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb59" href="#pb59">59</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t joke. How can you have a plow wholly made of wood?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you,&#8221; said Fil. &#8220;You see our rice fields are flooded and soft. We do not need a solid heavy steel plow, such as
+you need in hard, dry land. The water buffalo, who loves to wade through the flooded rice fields, easily pulls this bent stick,
+which plows up the mud. Then we drain the field and plant the rice seedlings, and flood the field again, because rice must
+grow in water.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is a peculiar but lovely Philippines that you live in ; so different from our country, but perhaps even more charming,&#8221;
+I added.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb60" href="#pb60">60</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch16" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0076.gif" alt="Ornament" width="613" height="230"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XVI</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Umbrellas; Chairs; Milk-Bottle</h2>
+<p>&#8220;Please show us an umbrella shop,&#8221; begged Filippa and Favra together; for they had been whispering about what they would like
+to see.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;This way, then,&#8221; said her father and the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>We walked along several narrow streets, which had bamboo blinds hung between the second stories, so as to keep out the strong
+sun.
+
+</p>
+<p>When we came to a certain door space, which really had no hinged door, Filippa&#8217;s father moved aside the dangling ropes, made
+of glass and bamboo beads, which hung across the entrance. This made a tinkling noise, and attracted the workman to the front.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We would like to see your umbrellas,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>I thought the workman would show us silk or cloth ones, that would roll up tight.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, this one is very thick,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lift it. It really is not heavy,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;How is it made?&#8221; I inquired.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb61" href="#pb61">61</a>]</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;It is made out of split bamboos, which are spread out in a circle. Oiled silk, or oiled hemp cloth, is pasted over the frame.
+It all costs very little,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But they are so thick, I could not put more than one in my umbrella stand at home,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;There you are joking again,&#8221; laughed Fil, who added: &#8220;We Filipinos hang our umbrella up on the veranda roof, where it is
+ornamental, as well as useful when wanted.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You see our umbrellas are made in pretty colors,&#8221; explained Filippa, who certainly showed that she would become a good housekeeper.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, would you like to see a chair-shop, where they use no saw or plane or nails?&#8221; asked Fil.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It seems nonsense, because our chairs at home are sawn from oak logs; and they are so filled with tacks and nails that they
+tear my clothes,&#8221; I replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Around this corner,&#8221; said Fil, who was proud to lead the way.
+
+</p>
+<p>Surely enough, Filipino workmen were tying lengths of bamboo poles together, with tough rattan vine, for the frame of a chair.
+The back was made of laced rattan and grasses. The seat was made of split bamboo, round side up, and all was as smooth, restful,
+light, and pliable as <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb62" href="#pb62">62</a>]</span>could be wished; and not a dangerous nail nor a saw used to make it.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can throw these chairs about. They never break, because they give way a little, like a spring. They are elastic, yet
+strong,&#8221; explained Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;And they cost only a few cents,&#8221; added the Padre.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;We don&#8217;t care when they burn up,&#8221; remarked Fil, who received from his father a stern look, and the order not to joke too
+much.
+
+</p>
+<p>As we walked home, we passed a man who carried a bamboo over one shoulder. At one end of the pole hung a thick piece of hollow
+bamboo. At the other end of the pole hung an earthenware jug, tied in a net of rattan. Behind him followed a herd of goats.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fresh milk and bottled milk for children,&#8221; he cried.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is he, a curio seller?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, a milkman,&#8221; answered Fil. &#8220;The bamboo jug is a pint measure. The earthen bottle holds the milk. And if you want fresh,
+warm milk for the baby, he will milk it here from one of his nibbling goats, right into the bamboo jug.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Always fresh milk!&#8221; shouted the vendor, as with his fingers, he made a snapping sound to call his herd of goats.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Really, a walking dairy,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0079.jpg" alt="Milkman" width="480" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Milkman</p>
+</div><p>
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb63" href="#pb63">63</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch17" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0081.gif" alt="Ornament" width="610" height="445"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XVII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Home Life</h2>
+<p>We were all tired when we reached home. The Angelus bell was sounding from the high white tower of the Iglesia. Every one
+stood still, bowed, made the holy sign, and then said a quiet prayer.
+
+</p>
+<p>After a late dinner, Fil and Filippa as usual kissed the hands of their parents, bowed to them, and retired.
+
+</p>
+<p>I thought how dutiful a custom this was, and I recalled how, in my own country, too many rude, selfish children, full of conceit,
+have little respect for their parents, and really attempt to order their elders around. The Filipino boy seems to know his
+place, as a boy.
+
+</p>
+<p>The grander Philippine houses, on the second floor, have a large hall called the &#8220;caida&#8221; <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb64" href="#pb64">64</a>]</span>(ca &#275;&#8242;da). Here every one meets to enjoy the feasts or music. The kitchen and the bath-house are small separate buildings
+in the yard, or &#8220;azotea&#8221; (a tho tai&#8242;a). Every one must bathe once a day at least.
+
+</p>
+<p>During the great heat of the day, after lunch, or &#8220;tiffin&#8221; as it is called, everyone sleeps a restful hour or two. Therefore
+visiting and dinners are carried on long into the night, when it is cooler.
+
+</p>
+<p>To keep out the sun, instead of glass, opaque mussel shells are used in the many little frames of the windows. This makes
+a pearly, soft light, like moonshine in the house, even on the brightest, hottest day.
+
+</p>
+<p>I noticed that women stood in the streams, and pounded clothes on smooth, round rocks.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s our way of washing, out in nature&#8217;s laundry,&#8221; explained Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>When Fil and Filippa were aroused each morning, I noticed that their mother did not touch or shake them, and I ventured to
+ask why she called so long and loud, even though she was standing over them. I remarked that in our land, a father would soon
+shake his lazy boy awake.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You shock me,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s mother. &#8220;We in the Philippines believe that it is most unlucky <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb65" href="#pb65">65</a>]</span>to disturb the sleeping spirit of a person by a touch. When the spirit is ready to answer to the call, it is ready to awake
+and come back into this world.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, how superstitious!&#8221; I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences
+on unimportant things.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not more superstitious than you are, when you refuse to pass under a ladder, or to begin a voyage on a Friday,&#8221; Fil&#8217;s mother
+answered. Then I realized that every person, every race, and every nation, and every color of mankind have their faults as
+well as their virtues, weak points as well as strong and good ones. There is something good in even the worst of us; and,
+perhaps, something bad in the best of us!
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can testify that you Filipinos surpass my people in one thing,&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. What is it?&#8221; asked Fil&#8217;s mother and father together.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Respect for parents and poor relations,&#8221; I answered. &#8220;Fil and Filippa kiss your hand and bow, morning and night. You, though
+a father and mother, are also as dutiful as children. You keep grandfather and grandmother, and poor old relations around
+the home, where they can always have a place to sleep, a kind hand near, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb66" href="#pb66">66</a>]</span>and can get a bite to eat anyway, and a tear of sympathy over their sick bed, at the last.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;By our religion, and by the warmth of our own hearts, we Filipinos believe it to be a cruel sin to send our parents and relatives
+to asylums. God gave us to them at the beginning of life, and God gives them to us at the end of life,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s pious
+mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a very, very beautiful saying, and what a beautiful deed!&#8221; I said.
+
+</p>
+<p>Fil&#8217;s grandmother was sitting in a corner of the room. I could see a tear of joy stealing down her sweet old face.
+
+</p>
+<p>We all now rose; saluted each other; and, as we retired for the night, we each said &#8220;Adios&#8221; (a d&#275; &#333;s&#8242;), which means &#8220;good
+night&#8221; or &#8220;good-by,&#8221; or really, &#8220;To God we commend you.&#8221;
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb67" href="#pb67">67</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch18" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0085.gif" alt="Ornament" width="598" height="289"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XVIII</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">Dress</h2>
+<p>The next morning the washwoman was bringing in the clothes. Knowing that I was a stranger, and would like to bring a true
+story home to American boys and girls, Fil&#8217;s mother asked me: &#8220;Would you like to learn the names and kinds of our garments?
+You will notice that they are very different from yours.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly I would. I live in a land where some people spend more time over clothes than over learning, character, good deeds,
+or the day&#8217;s duty,&#8221; I replied.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;This large flowing skirt of red, green, or white, is made of cotton, or hemp; and sometimes a little silk may be mixed in.
+We like bright colors, and a long train. No short, tight skirts in our styles,&#8221; explained Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;How sensible,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;This loose waist or chemisette is sometimes white and sometimes colored. It is made of jusi cloth, that is, cloth woven from
+banana <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb68" href="#pb68">68</a>]</span>leaf fiber. You see it is softer, thinner, and cooler than your linen or cotton.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is lovely,&#8221; I acknowledged.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Loose wide collars are in style with you now, but they have always been in style here. We call it &#8216;panuelo&#8217; (pa nu ai&#8242;l&#333;).
+It is our whitest, thinnest fiber, made from pineapple leaves, just like our handkerchiefs that I told you about. You see
+we starch it. It hangs down the back to a point, and it is very cool and dainty,&#8221; explained Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What wide sleeves!&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sinamei chemisettes, or waists, have very wide sleeves, but are short to the elbow. We starch them out, so they will
+be cool and neat,&#8221; replied Filippa&#8217;s mother.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I notice that Filippa&#8217;s hair is worn plain,&#8221; I remarked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied her mother, &#8220;we brush the hair back plain; tie a knot or leave it loose. We like jewelry, and we wear splendid
+lace mantillas, or shawls, over the head.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What odd slippers with no heels!&#8221; I exclaimed.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, we all like to have our feet ready to jump into mud or water, for our roads are not yet good. These slippers are called
+&#8216;chinelas&#8217; (ch&#275; nay&#8242;las). They have no heel and just a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb69" href="#pb69">69</a>]</span>catch to put the toe in. They have no laces. With them we slide along the ground. But we cannot back up straight, or run last
+in them. If we wish to go back we must turn around, so as to keep our chinelas on our toes. The young people do not wear stockings
+in our warm climate, where one lives close to Nature,&#8212;too close sometimes, when the snake bites.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But taken all together, what a happy Eden this is for a boy or a girl,&#8221; I added.
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb70" href="#pb70">70</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div id="ch19" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
+[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]
+</span><div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0088.gif" alt="Ornament" width="618" height="430"></div>
+<h2 class="label">Chapter XIX</h2>
+<h2 class="normal">The &#8220;Adios&#8221; Feast</h2>
+<p>Next day as we were walking down the road to the good-by feast, I noticed a crowd gathered in a circle, and stooping over.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are they doing; digging gold?&#8221; I asked.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, they are making game-fowl fight,&#8221; Moro replied. &#8220;They wager money on which will be the winner and put the other to flight.
+The boys and men get very much excited.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;This good-by feast in your honor, before you return home, is called a &#8216;fiesta&#8217; (f&#275; ais&#8242;t&#259;),&#8221; explained Filippa. &#8220;Father and
+mother and Fil have spoken to the Padre, and the barrio-elders; and everything is arranged.&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what is a &#8216;barrio&#8217;?&#8221; I inquired.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It means a village, a ward,&#8221; replied Filippa.
+
+
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p0089.jpg" alt="Fiesta" width="480" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Fiesta</p>
+</div><p>
+
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb71" href="#pb71">71</a>]</span></p>
+<p>I could hear bands and orchestras gathering. Here and there were tall bamboos bent over the paths, and from their arches hung
+banners and colored paper lanterns.
+
+</p>
+<p>Carromatos (car r&#333; ma&#8242; tos), small carriages drawn by little black ponies, were bringing people in. The men and boys were
+dressed in white duck, as though they were going aboard yachts.
+
+</p>
+<p>In front of the houses and the Iglesia (church) and convent were hung flags, festoons, streamers, wreaths, and bunting.
+
+</p>
+<p>Flowers and palm leaves were strewn along the path that the procession would take.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then we all started. The procession was led by the bands to the Iglesia, where, from the high campanile tower, the church
+bells were ringing. In the church the good Padre said a few words, and gave us all his prayers and blessing.
+
+</p>
+<p>While we were inside, evening had fallen. When we stepped out into the square, we saw a fairy starry land. Some one had lighted
+not only the lanterns and torches, but the larger southern stars of these tropical islands were shining brightly overhead.
+Colored rockets were also shot up into the night.
+
+</p>
+<p>The barrio-saint&#8212;really, the small statue of the patron saint of the village&#8212;was carried at the head of the procession.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb72" href="#pb72">72</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Then to the music of the bands, we all marched home to the big upper hall, and gathered around a wonderful table. Roast pig,
+chicken, pheasant; mountains of rice and fruit; candied ginger and mango; pickled chutney, which is sweet and sour at the
+same time and also spiced; coconut and nipa wine; flowers as big as a hat and smelling as sweet as a bottle of perfume! Sandalwood
+and spice-incense smoked sweetly, and nearly hid the good Padre and Fil&#8217;s father, who sat at the head of the table.
+
+</p>
+<p>The orchestra tinkled all kinds of drums, castanets, bells, fiddles; many of them having strange shapes and shrill noises.
+Funny, fat-cheeked boys were blowing the very life out of the flutes. All were very happy!
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not happy to see you leave, but trying to make you so happy that you will not have time to entertain regrets to-night. We
+want to remember your smiling face,&#8221; said Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>Then the table was cleared and moved. The company all gathered around the hall.
+
+</p>
+<p>Suddenly a hush; then a clamorous call of the orchestra! Then another hush&#8212;Filippa, dressed in silver spangle, and Fil, dressed
+in scarlet and gold, suddenly rushed from opposite sides of the hall to do the love-dance, in which the brave soldier woos
+and wins his sweetheart.
+<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb73" href="#pb73">73</a>]</span></p>
+<p>They came near each other. She seemed to be coy; to quarrel sometimes; to beg; to promise. They whirled about; they executed
+steps; they snapped castanets. The orchestra sang, whistled, snapped, strummed. The music flowed in waltzes; it jerked in
+Castilian measures; it whispered. It serenaded, while Fil carried a mandolin with a ribbon. Filippa dropped her handkerchief:
+Fil gracefully picked it up. He danced in pleading. He showed all the pretty steps he could do. As a sign that the soldier
+had won his lady-love, Filippa at last consented that he should return the handkerchief, crown her proudly with it on her
+cloud of thick hair, and waltz away with her triumphantly.
+
+</p>
+<p>It was a pretty tableau. The orchestra broke out in loud and full harmony, with now and then a wild Moro yell or shout, from
+the flutes and drums.
+
+</p>
+<p>How we applauded! Fil and Filippa had to bow their thanks many times, from the side of the caida (hall).
+
+</p>
+<p>Then there was another pause, after the Padre and Fil&#8217;s father had whispered.
+
+</p>
+<p>Suddenly Moro ran out with a rush, to give a wild Mohammedan dance.
+
+</p>
+<p>How strangely he was dressed! He wore tight red trousers, a red and blue turban on his <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb74" href="#pb74">74</a>]</span>head, and a tight jeweled tunic, covered with pearl buttons. His sash was green, dotted with purple spots. He had purple parrot
+feathers at his waist and in his turban.
+
+</p>
+<p>His feet were bare, as is the custom in his native wilds in the south island. The round shield that he carried, glistened.
+He waved two terrible kriss-knives, with jeweled handles. Over his shoulder he carried a spear. How he drummed on that shield!
+He hurled his knives into the air, and cleverly caught them before they fell. He seemed to pursue a foe; to crouch like a
+boy scout; to listen; to follow the track; to meet the foe; to battle for his life and country. At last he seemed to conquer
+with a wild yell, just as he was hurled backward and his shield was thrown aside. All this, while we held our breath in excitement,
+he acted in his strange, barbaric dance, keeping time with the wind-like, volcano-like music of his native Moro islands.
+
+</p>
+<p>The fiesta and the dances were over at last. The dancers and the guests departed.
+
+</p>
+<p>Next morning, as we stood on the coconut wharf waiting for the boat to come in, Fil perhaps noticed that I looked sad. I saw
+by his smile that he was preparing one of his jokes to cheer me up.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Father,&#8221; said he, &#8220;may I take our friend <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb75" href="#pb75">75</a>]</span>back to America, so as to see that he arrives all right?&#8221;
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait till you grow bigger,&#8221; replied Fil&#8217;s father.
+
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then don&#8217;t blame me if he gets lost,&#8221; laughed little Fil, as he tried to stand on his tiptoes, and lifted his hand high above
+his head, so as to appear as tall as a man.
+
+</p>
+<p>After all this courtesy, all this happy, laughing time, in these sunny summer islands of the purple Philippine seas, it almost
+broke my heart, as I left for home, to answer Fil, Filippa, their kind parents, Moro, the good Padre, and little Favra who
+were calling from the wharf: &#8220;Adios, amigo&#8221; (a d&#275; &#333;s&#8242; a m&#275;&#8242;g&#333;)&#8212;&#8220;To God we commend you, our friend.&#8221;
+
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter"><span class="smallcaps">The End</span>
+
+
+</p>
+<hr class="tb"><p>
+
+</p>
+<p class="aligncenter">Printed in the United States of America.
+
+
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="back">
+<div class="transcribernote">
+<h2>Colophon</h2>
+<h3>Availability</h3>
+<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give
+it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
+
+</p>
+<p>This eBook is produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a href="http://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>.
+
+</p>
+<p>The scans for this book are available at the <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/filfilippastoryo00thom">Internet Archive</a>.
+
+</p>
+<h3>Encoding</h3>
+<p></p>
+<h3>Revision History</h3>
+<ol class="lsoff">
+<li>2008-07-18 Started.
+
+</li>
+</ol>
+<h3>External References</h3>
+<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These links may not work for you.</p>
+<h3>Corrections</h3>
+<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p>
+<table width="75%">
+<tr>
+<th>Location</th>
+<th>Source</th>
+<th>Correction</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td width="20%"><a href="#xd0e1063">Page 50</a></td>
+<td width="40%">cocoanut</td>
+<td width="40%">coconut</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fil and Filippa
+       Story of Child Life in the Philippines
+
+Author: John Stuart Thomson
+
+Illustrator: Maud Petersham
+             Miska Petersham
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2008 [EBook #26414]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIL AND FILIPPA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        Fil and Filippa
+
+                      Story of Child Life
+                       in the Philippines
+
+
+                               By
+
+                      John Stuart Thomson
+
+                           Author of
+                     "China Revolutionized"
+                         "The Chinese"
+                     "Bud and Bamboo" Etc.
+
+                        Illustrations by
+
+                    Maud and Miska Petersham
+
+
+               The Macmillan Company, Publishers
+
+                        New York MCMXXIX
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        Copyright, 1917,
+                   By the Macmillan Company.
+
+      Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1917.
+
+            PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                 DEDICATED TO MY LITTLE FRIEND
+
+                         FRANCIS DORIS
+
+                         BY THE AUTHOR
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    Chapter
+
+    I.        Names.
+    II.       Climate, Typhoons, Volcano
+    III.      At Worship
+    IV.       Houses
+    V.        Cocoa and Coffee
+    VI.       Hemp and Sugar
+    VII.      The Coconut
+    VIII.     Indigo; Mango; Guava; Durian
+    IX.       The Forest
+    X.        Minerals
+    XI.       Water Buffalo
+    XII.      Bats; Cattle; Horses; Cats; Monkeys
+    XIII.     Flying Ants; Locusts
+    XIV.      Boats and Fish
+    XV.       Saw Mill; Mudsleighs; Wooden Plows
+    XVI.      Umbrellas; Chairs; Milk-bottle; Milkman
+    XVII.     Home Life
+    XVIII.    Dress
+    XIX.      The "Adios" Feast
+
+
+
+
+PERSONS
+
+
+    Fil, a Filipino boy.
+    Filippa, his sister.
+    Favra, her playmate.
+    Moro, Fil's playmate, a Mohammedan.
+    Fil's Father.
+    Fil's Mother.
+    The Padre-priest.
+    The Guest.
+    Driver of the Water Buffalo Cart.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FIL AND FILIPPA
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+NAMES
+
+
+It took me over a month and a half to reach the summer islands that
+I sought. In three weeks I had gone through the Panama Canal and
+had reached San Francisco, and in four weeks more I had crossed the
+world's widest, most peaceful, and bluest ocean, the Pacific.
+
+There, like a string of pearls hanging from the golden Equator,
+I found thousands of wonderful islands of all sizes, but only two
+of them are very large. I found also my new and kind young friends:
+Fil; his sister Filippa; Fil's boy playmate named Moro, who came
+from the large southern island; their parents and friends; and the
+good Padre. Each one of them was shorter and darker than I. Yet they
+said to me: "The Stars and Stripes, now our flag also, makes us all
+American brothers, which we will be always."
+
+"But how is it that you are called Filipinos, and live in the
+Philippine Islands?" I asked.
+
+Fil smiled and said: "Though I believe you know without asking me,
+I shall tell you to show that I know our romantic and interesting
+history.
+
+"Hundreds of years ago, many years before America became a nation,
+the roving Spaniards discovered these islands, and named them the
+Philip-pines, in honor of their king Philip. When the American Admiral
+Dewey won these islands from Spain, our name was not changed.
+
+"And our Christian names of Fil and Filippa have the same sound,
+and almost the same meaning, as Philippines," added Filippa, her
+eyes smiling from under her cloud of beautiful hair,--hair longer and
+richer than an American girl's hair,--and eyes darker and deeper than
+an American girl's eyes. Perhaps her brows were a little bit flatter,
+and her nose was a little bit shorter and wider, than ours; but still
+she was pretty, especially when she smiled, for she had beautiful
+white teeth.
+
+Then I turned to Fil's playmate, Moro, and asked him what his rolling
+name could mean. Moro was even more eager and darker than Fil. He
+replied, as he bravely touched his toy sword:
+
+"I, too, am of the Malay race, but of a different religion from Fil. I
+am a Mohammedan; that is, I reverence the same prophets whom the Turks
+worship. I come from the southern islands of the Philippines. There we
+spend most of our time roving in boats, and hunting over the hills. The
+first white man who met us saw that we were as dark, and had the same
+religion, as the tribes of Morocco in Africa. That perhaps is why I am
+called Moro, the Mohammedan, whose father fears no man; nor shall I,
+when I grow up."
+
+"But we are all friends now under a new, friendly flag; and we preach
+and practice love, instead of fear and fighting," I replied.
+
+Filippa looked upon me with very happy eyes, when I said this; for a
+girl seems to know wiser ways of settling quarrels than do boys. A boy
+becomes excited; a girl thinks longer and acts more slowly. Certainly,
+Filippa's gentle ways and the expression in her wonderfully deep eyes
+had more power with Fil and Moro than would strife and force.
+
+"Every name seems to have a pretty meaning in your Edenlike
+Philippines," I remarked to Filippa's playmate, Favra.
+
+"Yes," she replied, "the Padre (pa'drai), our pastor or cleric,
+who knows so much, tells me that my name means the friendly one who
+does favors."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CLIMATE, TYPHOONS, VOLCANO
+
+
+Next day I met the Padre. He was seated on a cane chair under a clump
+of whispering bamboos, which are giant grasses as tall and as strong
+as trees.
+
+We had hardly exchanged morning greetings, by saying "Buenos dias
+(boo ai'nos de'as)," before we heard the children running along the
+white shell path, between the parklike tropical woods.
+
+"Every one awakens early in this wonderful climate, yet no one seems
+to be fully awake," I said.
+
+The good Padre replied: "We are situated so near the Equator that
+the sun rises into full and bright daylight at once."
+
+"I seem to half dream all day. Is it the balmy warm air, or the scents
+of new flowers, or the equatorial sun?" I asked.
+
+The Padre explained it by saying: "The sun throws more direct rays
+here; and they pierce through thin hats, and especially through black
+clothes. It is best to wear thick, white paper helmets. Moreover,
+our climate is more damp than is America's climate.
+
+"That is why you feel somewhat dreamy; and that is why everything in
+Nature, such as trees, fruits, flowers, ferns, and even animals and
+birds, grow so richly; and why the flowers shed influences and perfumes
+on the air. It all appeals to the warmth, color, and dreaminess in
+your happy imagination.
+
+"You think of stories of Eden or Paradise perhaps, where one imagines
+no hard winter, no bare trees or lawns, no whiteness. Everything is
+more beautiful to look upon here. The birds and winds and rains drop
+seeds; and at once lavish plants grow up. You will soon become used to
+our warmer climate, because you will need to eat less meat and butter,
+which is the fuel that keeps you warm. Instead you will eat more rice
+and fruit, which will give you strength, without heating you."
+
+At this moment, our little friend Moro pursed out his cheek and made
+a sound like a howling siren or a storm.
+
+"That noise reminds me of your awful typhoons. I passed through one of
+those whirling storms, just as I approached these islands of beauty,"
+I exclaimed. "Can you explain that great wonder?" I asked.
+
+"It is God, the Creator's, magnificent but terrible act, such as you
+read about in the Book of Job or in the Psalms," said the Padre, who
+crossed himself and bowed in piety. The good children, except Moro,
+all made the holy sign.
+
+Then the wise Padre continued: "Like great characters, for a long
+time gentle,--like peace which has covered the earth for years,--so,
+in our still, summer seas, suddenly in September, everything seems to
+contradict and be in rebellion, with a force unknown and unexpected
+before,--a force all the greater, because it was accumulating quietly
+for many months.
+
+"The heat becomes unbearable. The winds arise and sweep all one way,
+for a time. Then comes the black rain. The heavy typhoon soon begins
+to howl and to turn in a circle for two or three days. The wheeling
+storm moves from place to place, and finally dies down at sea."
+
+Filippa inquired: "Why is such a circular storm of the Oriental
+tropics, called a typhoon?"
+
+The Padre explained: "It is a word that we have taken from the
+Chinese, who live not many hours away from us, across the water to the
+northwest. 'Tai' means great. 'Fung' or 'phoon,' means a wind. These
+storms sweep all the way from the Philippine Islands, across the seas
+to China. We like the expressive word which the Chinese have given
+these wind storms."
+
+"We have another natural wonder here, the volcano," said Favra.
+
+"Yes," replied the Padre, "the Taal (Tae'al) and Mayon (Mae y[+o]n')
+volcanoes once were smoking and fiery mountains, shaped like a
+cone. Years ago fire and lava, which is molten rock that has cooled,
+poured from their hot, pointed tops, ran down the sides, and destroyed
+everything in their path."
+
+"What is lava?" asked Fil.
+
+The Padre replied: "Even a volcano produces some good. This melted
+rock, when it becomes cold, forms a light, porous stone, which is
+used for polishing. You use it in your bathroom, to rub ink off your
+hands. Lava stone is easily ground into powder. When mixed with soap,
+this ground lava becomes a useful cleaning and polishing powder."
+
+"Nature is always useful, as well as grand and beautiful," remarked
+Fil's father, who, dressed in a white silk suit and abaca hat, had
+just then come up the path.
+
+"Where did you get that hat?" I laughingly asked Fil's father.
+
+"I'll tell you some other time. It is made from reeds, woven under
+water to keep them damp and pliant. The hat, therefore, is light,
+durable, and cool," he replied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+AT WORSHIP
+
+
+When I arose next day and walked to the usual morning seat under the
+bamboos, I found only Moro there.
+
+"Where is everybody else?" I asked.
+
+"At the Iglesia (ig lai se'a)," replied Moro.
+
+I knew iglesia was the Philippine word for church; so I said to Moro:
+"Let us go there too, and see what they are all doing."
+
+After we had walked along the white shell paths, past the swaying
+fisher boats, over an ancient stone bridge, beneath tall palms
+and hanging vines and thick bananas, we beheld a wonderfully carved
+doorway, with statues in the niches. Over the tree tops, rose a noble
+white dome. From the open windows, the sweet singing of sacred music
+came to our ears. It was the well-known Mass or communion music of
+our own land, consisting of the beautiful strains of the Gloria, the
+Sanctus, and the Benedictus. As we came nearer, the breeze wafted
+us sweet incense from the altar, sandal and spice and flower and
+cinnamon scents.
+
+Though Moro was of a different faith, he took off his hat; so did
+I. The short Filipino men were dressed in white. The sweet-looking
+Filipino women were dressed in wide-striped skirts, and white waists,
+with very large collars starched stiff. Over their heads were large
+lace shawls called mantillas. They wore no hats, for they were very
+proud to show their fine long hair, filled with gold and jeweled pins.
+
+Every one dipped a finger in the water which was placed in a huge
+shell near the door. Then they bowed before the cross on the altar,
+which was shining at the end of the long aisle.
+
+In the front seats, under the high dome, we could see Filippa, her
+parents, and Favra. The colored light from the stained glass windows
+fell down in rays and clouds of beauty upon the altar boys, who wore
+robes of purple and white lace.
+
+The music of the blue and gold organ was subdued to a velvet
+whisper. Suddenly a boy arose behind the carved benches of the
+choir. He sang in a voice as clear as a bird's:
+
+
+    "Come, Holy Spirit, Come."
+
+
+It was Fil who was singing. The censers were swinging. The organ began
+to drown even Fil's clear voice. Then all the singers in the choir
+arose and filled the great dome, the long cathedral aisles, and even
+the palm grove outside the windows, with a great burst of sacred music:
+
+
+    "Holy, Holy is the Lord."
+
+
+It was all very solemn and very sweet. Far richer than in the homeland,
+seemed the music, because of the greater natural beauty of the tropics.
+
+Then our good friend, the Padre, arose, and spoke to his people,
+about charity and missions and peace and the stranger within the
+doors. He spoke so kindly that we all regretted war, and even hated
+the name of war. He asked us to give gifts for the wounded and the
+poor in other sad, colder, harder lands of hate and evil.
+
+Then he extended his hands. A great blessing seemed to flow down from
+the pulpit and even from the walls of the holy temple of peace, where
+the white altar, the golden cross, and the colored windows shone out
+as signs of purity and love.
+
+When the service was dismissed, we all walked home together.
+
+"When are you going to be a Christian, little Moro?" inquired the
+kind Padre.
+
+"I am a Mohammedan. My people come from the southern Philippines. We
+worship one God, and Mohammed is his prophet. We make converts by
+the sword of force, rather than by preaching," replied Moro, his eyes
+looking strange and brave.
+
+"Tell me more about your religion. I have heard it is peculiar,"
+said Filippa.
+
+"When we pray, we face Mecca, instead of Jerusalem or Rome. At Mecca
+in Arabia is the Holy Book, which we call the Koran. There, also,
+is the birthplace of Mohammed, our prophet. We believe in troops of
+angels above, as well as in 'jinns,' or spirits, on earth, who are
+ready to help us. We have no altars in our mosques or churches.
+
+"Our mosques are immense, plain structures, with only large Arabic
+letters of texts, painted on the walls and ceiling. Five times a day,
+the Muezzin priest mounts the outside of the mosque tower, and calls
+the faithful to prayer. Each Mohammedan carries his own praying
+mat. After placing it on the tile floor beneath the thin pillars,
+he kneels and bows upon his mat, facing Mecca, where our prophet was
+born. We do not use music or organs."
+
+All this Moro explained to us. What he told about his religion was
+very different, very interesting, very new.
+
+"There are good things in your religion," said the kind Padre, as he
+placed his hand gently on Moro's dark head.
+
+"You despise the use of intoxicating liquor. You teach the duty of
+giving alms and of being charitable to the poor, the unfortunate, and
+the sick. You teach that every one is his brother's keeper, and should
+help his brother to succeed in life. You teach that cleanliness and
+plain living are almost a part of religion. And we Christians agree
+with you, Moro, in all these grand ideas; for I think that, with
+all the sorrow now in the world, some of us have been too selfish,
+too luxurious, as though we thought we would live forever, and had
+no duty except to ourselves."
+
+I, too, felt conscience-stricken for my homeland and for myself,
+when I heard, in this odd and different quarter of our large world,
+the Filipino Padre's true but kind moralizing over Moro's different
+religion.
+
+"The bells! Oh, the silver-sweet bells!" exclaimed Filippa's mother.
+
+"The bells of love and peace," replied the Padre, as he glanced back
+at the twin towers of his white Iglesia (church) that shone over the
+grove of coconut palms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+HOUSES
+
+
+"What odd homes! toy houses toppling over from their stilts!" I
+exclaimed, as we passed a remarkable village. All the buildings were
+set up on poles, and had ladders for their dwellers to climb up to
+the high doors. The houses looked as though the lower story had been
+washed away, and only the second story remained. Over each window and
+door projected a very neat eyebrow, so to speak, either to shed rain
+or to keep out the sun.
+
+"That is our famous nipa-thatch house used by the original Filipinos,"
+said Moro. "I can explain all about it, for all Moros, and many
+backward tribes, use these houses."
+
+"Tell me everything," I urged.
+
+"First," said Moro, "there is not one nail in a nipa-thatch
+house. Perched high in the air on poles, as it is, you perhaps would
+think our typhoons would blow it over, just like a light bandbox."
+
+"So I would think," I replied.
+
+"Well," laughed bright Moro, "let me ask you a question. What makes
+a pole snap before the rush of a storm? What makes a brick wall give
+way before a sudden wind? And why does a tree or a reed bear the
+storm easily?"
+
+"Because the tree and the reed are elastic enough to give a little,--to
+bend instead of breaking," I answered.
+
+"That is just it," again laughed my little Master Moro. "Our small nipa
+hut, high in the air, sways a little, but rides out the storm. Every
+pole, every beam, and every rafter of the frame, is all made of hollow
+bamboo. Bamboo is stronger than steel, because it bends and gives,
+and then springs back. There is no nail in the house. Every crosspiece
+is tied with rattan, the same vine with which you make cane chairs;
+so you know how strong and elastic it is."
+
+"And of what are the sloping roofs and the side walls made?" I
+inquired.
+
+"Of the famous nipa palm," Moro replied. "It grows in swamps, often
+near the sea. It looks like a gigantic fern. Its wide leaves we lap
+one over another, and tie them to the bamboo frame by withes of tough
+cogon grass."
+
+"Are you not afraid of fire?" I asked.
+
+Moro frankly said: "Yes, but as our house is so cheap, we can build a
+new one easily. However, in this warm climate we cook in a separate
+house, and we bathe out of doors. We do not smoke within our nipa
+houses; it is too dangerous."
+
+"Tell our friend from across the purple ocean how we use the bamboo
+and the nipa plants, for other purposes besides building," remarked
+little Fil.
+
+Moro continued: "From the sap of the nipa palm, we distill
+alcohol. From the hollow bamboo we make pipes for carrying water. We
+boil the tender new shoots of bamboo, and eat them like celery. We
+put a stopper into one joint of a hollowed bamboo, and use it for a
+bottle. The pliant bamboo root we make into whips. We make bridges,
+fences, window blinds, furniture, and carriages out of bamboo. We
+even make blow guns and shoot our arrows at birds, through the
+bamboo stalk."
+
+"There are one hundred kinds of bamboo, and a thousand uses for the
+plant," added Filippa.
+
+"I should imagine that the bamboo is the skeleton or the framework,
+and that the nipa is the skin of the Philippine structure," I remarked.
+
+"That is the doctor's way of drawing a figure of speech," laughed
+the Padre.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+COCOA AND COFFEE
+
+
+The next morning Filippa's mother refreshed us all with a cup of
+fragrant cocoa, so that we might begin the day in good spirits. As
+I was sipping it, the Padre remarked in good humor:
+
+"Did you Americans seize the Philippines merely for a cup of cocoa?"
+
+I replied laughingly: "This cup of cocoa is so good, that I certainly
+would try to seize the Philippines for it."
+
+Filippa's mother and father both bowed and said I was complimentary,
+like a diplomat.
+
+Then I continued: "I am glad the Philippines are now ours, and yours
+too, because our money can help to develop the wonderful tropical
+products which do not grow in our colder America. I wish you would
+explain something about cocoa and coffee, which we prize very much
+and which we send our ships a long way to secure."
+
+Fil's father, who was a planter of wide acres, replied:
+
+"The cocoa bean and the coconut are two very different plants. Do not
+confuse them. The cocoa bean, out of which you grind cocoa powder and
+chocolate for a drink, for bonbons, and for puddings, comes out of a
+fruit shaped like a large red cucumber. This fruit grows on a tender
+bush, which must be shaded by a thick banana palm. In each fruit are
+twenty of these seeds, or cocoa beans.
+
+"They have hard skins, and are very bitter and stimulating. When
+eaten, they excite the heart, and thus make a person feel active
+and alive. Soldiers and athletes eat them, to relieve fatigue. As
+soon as the fruit is gathered, the beans must be dried in the sun,
+or be roasted. The cocoa bean is very oily. To make cocoa, the oil is
+extracted, when the beans are ground into a paste. To make chocolate,
+the oil is not extracted."
+
+"I never ate a cocoa bean which was sweet; but a chocolate-drop is
+sweet," said Filippa, who had bought chocolate-drops in the candy
+stores.
+
+Her father explained: "We add sugar and vanilla, to the brown cocoa
+bean paste."
+
+"Just think of practically growing chocolate bonbons on a tree, beneath
+the window of your nipa huts, in these wonderful Philippine Islands,"
+I added, and every one smiled.
+
+"It is really true, when one adds the sugar," remarked the Padre.
+
+"Now tell me please about coffee, also," I begged.
+
+Fil's father continued:
+
+"The coffee comes from another low bush. You choose a hillside,
+for, although the plant likes our heavy rains in the Philippines,
+it does not like to keep its roots long in water. It wants to drain
+them and to feel the warm sun. The leaves are long and glossy; the
+blossoms are waxy white. The fragrance is richer than rose sweetened
+with sugar. The fruit is like a scarlet cherry; each contains two
+seeds. These two seeds are the coffee bean of commerce and of the
+breakfast table. They are ground in a small mill, as you know."
+
+"How were the beans first discovered?" I inquired.
+
+Fil's father smiled and told this story: "One day a shepherd noticed
+that his goats, which had eaten the cherries off a coffee bush,
+danced about in high excitement as though they, instead of their
+master, were going to a fiesta. Then the shepherd ate the berries,
+too, and felt stimulated himself. That is how coffee in time came
+to our breakfast table. Instead of eating the berry, we grind it and
+steep it, and drink the liquor."
+
+"But, father, the seeds are light colored, and not deep brown, when
+you open the fruit," said Fil.
+
+"I know," replied Fil's father. "We roast the seeds in an oven, to get
+rid of the moisture and to preserve and ripen the stimulating oils."
+
+"Thank you all;" I exclaimed, "now I will behold a whole tropical
+story of geography and commerce, every time I look into a grocer's
+window at home."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+HEMP AND SUGAR
+
+
+"However, the richest products of our Philippine Islands are abaca
+(ab'aca) and sugar," said the fatherly Padre next morning, when I
+met him under the shade of the bamboos and the madre trees.
+
+"I am sure you do not know what abaca is," laughed Filippa.
+
+"I guess from its name that it may be a cousin of tobacco; it sounds
+like it: abaca,--tobacco."
+
+"Names are sometimes misleading," replied the Padre. "The manila hemp,
+or abaca plant, is a nearer cousin of the banana palm. You cannot make
+a sail or tie up a bag of potatoes, without using our manila hemp,
+or abaca. It is the strongest fiber known; it does not weaken in
+water. The great hawsers that are used to pull the great ships, are
+made out of it. It all comes from the leaf of this Philippine palm."
+
+"Wonderful and beautiful and useful islands," I confessed. "But how
+do you make a leaf into a cord, a hawser, a sail, or a bag?"
+
+The Padre continued: "This big plant with leaves taller than a man,
+grows on a hill. We do not let it flower. The huge leaves are cut near
+the root, and new leaves grow up at once. All through the leaf run
+long tough ribs. We drag this over a big rough knife that is fastened
+in a board; and thus we scrape away the soft pulp without breaking
+the fiber. The wet fibers, we hang over a fence in the sun, to dry.
+
+"Then we press the fibers all together, and ship them to you in big
+heavy bales, in the bottom of a ship. You weave the bales of fiber into
+bags, cloth, hawser ropes, canvas, tents, and cordage. We Filipinos,
+also, split the fiber and weave it into many kinds of cloth. Sometimes
+we mix silk or cotton with the abaca hemp."
+
+"I am sure our friend would like to learn about sugar," remarked Fil,
+who had a sweet tooth for candy.
+
+Fil's father took up this part of the story, and said:
+
+"Sugar of course comes from a sweet cane, which is grown on high
+land. The cane is cut down. A pony or a water buffalo is harnessed to
+a roller. We feed the ripened cane into the rollers. As the animal
+drives this roller around, the sugar cane is pressed through. The
+sweet juice is caught and put into kettles. This juice is heated
+several times, and stirred, and purified by bone charcoal. The white
+crystals separate from the dark molasses sirup. We sometimes feed
+the molasses to cattle and pigs, to make them fat for market."
+
+Fil's eyes looked very longingly as he listened to this tale of good
+things; so I passed him a penny or two.
+
+"Is not sugar made also from very sweet, dark beets?" I inquired.
+
+"Not in these islands," replied the Padre. "We find that the sugar
+cane gives a sweeter and a more nutritious product. The beet sugar
+is made in Europe and in the western states of America."
+
+"What do you do with the pressed sugar cane?" I inquired.
+
+"We spread it out in the sun and dry it in large yards. It still
+contains much sugar. We use it for fuel, to light the fires under
+the kettles."
+
+"What a waste!" I exclaimed. "You should use oil or gas for fuel, and
+should press every drop of sugar out of that valuable cane. Waste not;
+want not, is as good a maxim for a nation as for a boy."
+
+"If you are always that serious, like a lecturer, the children may
+not like you so well," remarked the gentle Padre.
+
+"Not at all," replied Fil and Moro and Filippa and Favra, who perhaps
+remembered the pennies I had given to them. Then I hummed as we went
+home to have lunch, or "tiffin," as they call it:
+
+
+    "All lectures and no candy or fun
+    Make Moro and Fil dull boys."
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE COCONUT TREE
+
+
+Moro was always up to tricks. I noticed that he was whispering
+something to Filippa who was laughing.
+
+"Tell it out," demanded Filippa's mother.
+
+"The bad boy said the coconut, which we are trying to break, is a
+hairy monkey's head dried."
+
+"Let me see it," I demanded.
+
+Surely enough, there was plainly marked a monkey's eyes and mouth
+and hair and nose.
+
+"We'll soon settle this," said Fil, who dashed the coconut on a stone,
+broke the hard shell, wasted half the sweet milk,--exposing the white,
+fragrant meat.
+
+"Did you know that the coconut furnishes cloth, mats, roofs, fuel,
+soap oil, candy, puddings, cups, dyes, lamp oil, butter, candles, axle
+grease, ropes, brushes, furniture, shade, food, drink, and liquor to
+intoxicate," asked Filippa's mother, who was as wise as Fil's father.
+
+"Please go slowly," I remarked, "for you are making me think that
+these islands are Paradise; that you touch some button, and every
+wish comes true, as in the fairy stories. In our country, a tree
+furnishes only lumber; or sometimes nuts or sugar in addition, but
+never over two things at once. Now you would have me believe that
+one slim tree with only a tuft of leaves at the top, furnishes you
+twenty useful and rich products. This is really too much to believe,
+though I ask you to forgive me for being so frank."
+
+Filippa's mother replied: "These are the gardens of the sunny Equator;
+and you can, therefore, expect wonderful things. The rough covering
+of the shell is woven into mats, brushes, ropes, and bags. The
+fibers of the leaves make a fine cloth. The dried leaves make a
+roof-thatch. The trunk makes foundation poles. The coconut itself
+is fruit and drink. When the white meat is dried, it is shredded
+for pastry and candy. When the coconut meat is pressed, the oil
+extracted is used for fuel, light, hair pomades, butter, candles,
+and grease. It is used also in making the best hand soaps; in fact,
+it makes the only soap that can be used with salt sea water."
+
+"Please let me tell all its other valuable qualities," said Fil.
+
+"If you cut a coconut in half, you have two cups, or dishes. You can
+draw the milk through a small hole, plug the hole, and use the shell
+as a float. If you burn the shell, you can make a deep dye from the
+ashes,--a dye that will not fade or wash out."
+
+"I'll tell you more about it," Moro eagerly intruded. "The oddest use
+for a smoothed half of a coconut shell, is to use it as a rat-guard,
+to shed off rats from our strings of dried fruit hanging from the
+roof. As the rat comes down the rattan rope, the halved coconut shell
+tips, and down he falls from its smooth surface, to the floor, and
+misses the hanging fruit.
+
+"If you climb up the high coconut tree, and cut a hole in the flowering
+stalk, the juice will run out. This is called the delicious 'tuba'
+liquor, and we catch it in cups made from half of a coconut shell."
+
+"And if you ferment and distill that liquor," said the Padre, "you
+have the cocoa wine which is much used for medicine in America."
+
+Filippa's mother then remarked: "I have seen coconut oil, placed
+in a coconut shell, burning along a coconut wick, as a lamp, in a
+house built out of coconut stems and leaves, under a coconut grove;
+and the Filipino family were eating coconuts, and drinking coconut
+'tuba' juice, at a table made from coconut stalks."
+
+"That must have been in Coconutville, when a coconut clock was
+striking, under a coconut moon," laughed Fil, who sometimes was full
+of smart wit.
+
+"But what I have said is exactly and solemnly true," replied his
+gentle mother.
+
+"I understand it now," I replied, "and I see how one coconut tree would
+make me richer than a whole forest of poplar or oak trees at home."
+
+Hungry Moro remarked: "I wish that this moment I had coconut shredded
+over some Bebinka cakes."
+
+"What are Bebinka cakes?" I inquired.
+
+"They are pancakes made from fermented corn and rice dough,
+mixed. Every Filipino is fond of them," explained Filippa's mother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+INDIGO, MANGO, GUAVA, DURIAN
+
+
+"If you will remain in our sunnier Philippines, I'll tell you about
+plants and flowers and fruits, that you have never even heard about,"
+said sunny little Filippa, who herself was as beautiful as a flower,
+and as soft to touch as a fruit.
+
+"Tell about our indigo," suggested her brother Fil.
+
+Filippa looked very wise, pointed to her indigo skirt, and continued:
+"You get your dyes from the benzene of coal tar, but they do
+not stand washing or sunlight, as well as our bright and strong
+vegetable dyes. We take our indigo plant, and steep the leaves in
+water for twelve hours, in a stone tank. Then Fil drains off the
+yellow liquor. This soon turns green. Then blue sediment settles in
+Nature's wonderful chemical way, under the strong sunlight. We drain
+off the water, and cut the indigo cakes into cubes."
+
+"Very well told," remarked Filippa's mother. "This is a dye which
+will not fade. It lasts as long as the gown. Now, Moro, I would like
+you to tell about mangoes and guavas and durians; for you are always
+eating them."
+
+Moro laughed, and began to throw sticks up into a tall tree.
+
+"What are you doing? Why don't you answer?" I inquired.
+
+"I'm trying to knock down a custard, one foot long and half a foot
+deep," he replied.
+
+"Such nonsense. Custards in my country are made out of eggs and are
+baked in ovens," I said.
+
+"Not this better kind," replied Moro, who brought down a huge fruit,
+all covered with sharp spurs and spikes, sharper and harder than
+rose-thorns.
+
+"Nature has kept her rich custard guarded by spikes and by an awful
+odor," remarked Fil's father, as he broke open the thick skin with
+an ax.
+
+"But it's worth the trouble," said Moro, who pointed out the heart
+of the fruit, which truly was one solid, delicious natural custard,
+one foot long,--enough for a whole Filipino family.
+
+"The monkeys know how to open the spiked fruit better than you do,"
+said Fil. "They throw them from the high branches. The fruit breaks
+open on the ground. Then the wild monkeys race down the tree, and
+eat up the custard durian. Who said that a monkey does not think?"
+
+Everybody laughed at this odd but true tale of the remarkable
+Philippines.
+
+"I know something about guava, for I eat guava jelly with my turkey
+and venison at home, but I never knew that it came from the far-away
+Philippine Islands. Is it a root or a seed?" I inquired.
+
+"Oh, no!" replied Moro. "It's a fruit taken from that low tree
+over there. The flowers are white. The fruit, shaped like a pear,
+is yellow."
+
+"What makes the delightful jelly red?" I inquired.
+
+"Perhaps the cooking, or the sugar that is added," suggested Fil's
+mother.
+
+"You have not yet told about mangoes. Please hand our friend one,"
+said Filippa.
+
+Moro climbed up and up a dizzy height, into an evergreen tree sixty
+feet high. He brought down in his pockets, several fruits as large
+as cucumbers, only the colors were red and yellow.
+
+"Eat one. They are the most delicious and juicy fruit known in the
+whole world,--just like wine," said Moro.
+
+I bit eagerly into one, and at once threw it far away. Everybody
+laughed at my strange action.
+
+"Why, it's turpentine; it's paint," I said. "I didn't think you'd do
+this to me, Moro."
+
+"Swallow it anyway. That turpentine smell lasts only a second,"
+explained Filippa.
+
+I tried another mango, and found it to be the juiciest and sweetest
+fruit that I ever ate, dripping wine, full of refreshment in a hot
+climate, food and drink and medicine in one.
+
+"What do you do with its large seed, as hard as iron?" I inquired.
+
+"I'll show you," replied Moro.
+
+The bright boy at once lighted a fire, and roasted the hard seed
+in the ashes. Then he brushed and washed it clean; and handed it to
+me, when it became somewhat cool, saying: "Eat it too; it is really
+chocolate toast now."
+
+And such I found it to be.
+
+"Your mango then is a whole breakfast,--toast, drink, and fruit,"
+I said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE FOREST
+
+
+When we all met next morning, again under the bamboo grove, the good
+Padre said:
+
+"If you were lost in your woods at home, you would soon wander and die;
+but if you were lost here, you could live for years."
+
+"Then let us go into such a forest of Eden," I replied, and held out
+my hands to Fil and Filippa.
+
+Away we went down the white shell road across the canal; and soon we
+were lost among the many trees, palms, and vines.
+
+The Padre pointed to the coconut tree and the nipa palm, and said:
+"As we already have told you, they would afford you a house, food,
+drink, light, and soap."
+
+"What is this great hard tree?" I inquired.
+
+The Padre explained: "That's the valuable mahogany. Thin strips of
+it are polished, and used to cover the woodwork of your piano and
+bureau at home."
+
+"And this other wonderful, new tree?" I asked.
+
+"That is the molave. It is so hard that sea worms and white ants
+cannot bore into it. So it is good for boats, wharves, and frames
+for big buildings," replied the Padre.
+
+"Here is a pretty tree," remarked Filippa.
+
+"You should think so," answered her father. "It is the lanete. Its wood
+is so strong and pliable, that your violin was made from part of one."
+
+"Here's a skipping rope," exclaimed Filippa.
+
+"No, a boat rope," explained Fil.
+
+"That is really the bejuco rattan vine," remarked the Padre, who
+knew botany and the lore of nature. "It is three hundred feet long,
+as long as a city block, if you pull it out of the jungle and away
+from the tree tops, where it has climbed like a huge snake. We can
+use it for bridge or carriage ropes, or we can divide the strands
+and make cloth, or hats, or cord out of it."
+
+"What gorgeous and sweet-scented flowers," exclaimed Filippa, pointing
+to a great tree.
+
+"That is the Ylang," said the Padre. "Our friend uses its perfume
+on his handkerchief; but he did not know, perhaps, that the flower
+grew in the far-away Philippines. It has the deepest fragrance of
+any flower, whether on plant, bush, or tree."
+
+"What can its strange name mean?" I inquired; for I seemed to have
+no acquaintance with nature at all, in this wonderfully different land.
+
+The Padre, who knew many languages, explained: "It is a Malay word
+which means, 'The chief flower of all flowers'; and such I think
+it really is. We capture the fragrance by distilling the flowers,
+and mixing pure alcohol with the essence."
+
+"If you were ill in the forest, and caught fever from the mosquitoes
+and ants that stung you, the bark of this tree would cure you, just
+as quinine does," continued the Padre.
+
+"Is it the little quinine, or cinchona, tree?" I inquired.
+
+"No, it is a sister tree. We call it 'Dita' in our language."
+
+"I said our forests would house and feed you. Now I'll show you
+how they would also clothe you. Please show me your handkerchief,
+Filippa," said the Padre.
+
+Filippa handed him a little square of linen cloth, so thin and watery
+in color, or absence of color, that I could look through it.
+
+"In your country, that little handkerchief would be worth twenty-five
+dollars. It is woven from the very thin fibers drawn from pineapple
+leaves, and is called Pina cloth, or Pina linen."
+
+Filippa's mother added: "It is finer than silk or hemp linen. We make
+our best shiny gowns and laces out of it. Because it is so fine,
+it takes a long time to get enough threads to weave and work it
+together. The time spent in making it, explains its great cost."
+
+"I see now why Filippa is promised a Pina gown for our coming feast,
+or fiesta day, that you kindly promise to give in my honor before I
+go away. It certainly is a cloth fit for a queen," I replied.
+
+"Oh! when will the feast day come?" Filippa eagerly inquired.
+
+"Soon," laughed her mother.
+
+"Here is a more wonderful tree, from the gum of which we make
+automobile tires, rubber heels, elastic bands, hot water bags, rain
+coats, rubber shoes, hose, and so on," exclaimed the Padre.
+
+I looked; and surely enough, there was the identical rubber tree
+which we see in florists' shops or in the greenhouse at home; only
+this tree was larger. Its thick leaves were nearly as large as a hat.
+
+"We cut a hole in the bark, and, when the yellow gum oozes out, we
+boil it down thick, till it is dark colored. Then we mix it with chalk
+and sulphur; and behold, afterwards we roll out your automobile tire,"
+explained the wise Padre.
+
+"Could you pull the rubber tree out as high as the stars, and would
+it snap back again?" asked joking Moro.
+
+"Stop your joking," replied Fil's mother. "You know very well that the
+rubber tree itself is not pure gum, any more than the maple tree in
+America is pure sugar. It is the gum of the rubber tree that becomes
+the rubber."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MINERALS
+
+
+"It is not only what towers above us, that makes our islands rich. Dig
+at your feet, and you will find valuable minerals! Magellan, the
+Spaniard, first discovered the Philippine Islands while he was on a
+search for gold, though I think a rubber tree, or a bamboo, is more
+valuable than gold," said the wise Padre.
+
+"We get gold in two ways," explained Fil. "We wash it from scooped-up
+gravel, and we break it out of rock with a hammer."
+
+"And how do you melt your iron and copper?" I inquired.
+
+"We dig coal, and use bamboo pipes and a bellows to make the draft. We
+put the ore into a clay kettle, and melt the rock out of it. Then,
+when the iron is pure, we heat it again until it is red, and beat it
+with hammers into shapes. Thus we make it into wheels, spears, axes,
+and so on," explained Fil, who had watched the workmen at their labors.
+
+"I know little about practical, mechanical affairs; tell me more,"
+urged Filippa.
+
+"We have petroleum oil, just as America has; also, lead and paint
+ores. We have burnt-out volcano hills, composed of sulphur down into
+their deep hearts."
+
+"That is like a very bad place, way down below, that I have read
+about," interrupted Moro; and Fil's mother and the Padre shook their
+fingers at him for joking.
+
+Fil continued: "We have beautiful marble quarries, out of which we can
+carve statues and table tops, and tops for seats. Our marble is full
+of colored veins just like jewels. Then we also have gypsum mines,
+which furnish both fertilizer for land, to make crops grow high,
+and plaster of Paris, out of which we make pretty white statues."
+
+"Wonderful!" I said, "I never thought of all this, when at home I
+bought the lovely white statues of lions and birds, from the vendor
+man with the basketful, on our street corner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WATER BUFFALO
+
+
+We were all so tired when we came out of the wood to the canal, that
+Fil's father told us to wait until a buffalo cart came down the white
+shell road.
+
+"A buffalo cart!" I exclaimed. "I'm afraid to ride in that. We used
+to shoot buffaloes in our country, and the few now remaining we guard
+behind iron fences in zoo gardens."
+
+"Here he comes!" exclaimed Fil and Moro together.
+
+"Boys, boys, be careful!" I cried.
+
+"Let us frighten our guest," whispered Moro.
+
+The buffalo sniffed at me, a stranger, and would have charged with his
+head down; but the man who had a rope tied to a ring in the buffalo's
+soft nose, pulled the animal back.
+
+"Get down, you foolish boy!" I exclaimed.
+
+But before I could stop him, brave little Moro had climbed up between
+the fierce looking animal's thick, long, sweeping horns, which extended
+from his large head back to his shoulders.
+
+"Please get into the cart, everybody," Fil's father ordered, in
+a hospitable manner, bowing and waving his arm. It was indeed a
+high step.
+
+The cart had solid wooden wheels, made out of one thick section that
+had been cut from a mahogany tree. There was no iron rim around the
+edge of the wheel. The sides of the cart, however, were light, as
+they were made from bamboo posts with rattan vine woven between them.
+
+The driver sat on the shafts, and directed the heavy animal, just as
+much by words as by pulling the long rope.
+
+"Why do you call these strong animals water buffaloes?" I asked Fil.
+
+"Because, to escape the flies and the heat, the animal refuses to work
+during the heat of the day, and rushes off into a stream, or into the
+sea, to cover himself with mud and sand and water and weeds. All you
+can see above the stirred-up water are his large eyes and two wicked
+looking horns, which are as thick as a branch of a tree."
+
+"What an odd tail he has, much like a mule's hairless tail. It looks
+like a piece of hose-pipe," I exclaimed.
+
+Moro, way up on the buffalo's neck, heard me and laughed: "He can't
+reach me with his rubber tail."
+
+"But I'll reach you, Sir, if you don't get down soon from your
+dangerous perch," said Fil's father.
+
+The Padre explained: "We sometimes call these animals carabao. We use
+them for plowing, for drawing our sugar to market, for pressing our
+hemp mill, for turning our water wheels and sugar rollers, for pulling
+the huge logs of hardwood out of the thick forest. When the roads
+are too muddy for wheeled carts, we make a mud sleigh with runners;
+and the water buffalo with his thick hoofs pulls our loads of rice
+bags through the ooze."
+
+"And we eat him too, though his steaks are tougher than cow meat,"
+laughed Fil.
+
+"And we make taws and whips out of his thick hide to correct little
+boys, if they have too much to say sometimes," remarked Fil's father,
+who winked at me, showing that his words were more severe than were
+his intentions or acts. Like the terrier, he just liked to frighten
+people; his bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+BATS; CATTLE; HORSES; CATS; MONKEYS
+
+
+"Let us stop here," begged Fil.
+
+The driver, who wore a mushroom-shaped bamboo hat, pulled the water
+buffalo to a stop. All, except Filippa and Favra, got off at the
+mouth of a cave.
+
+"I won't go in or near it," exclaimed Filippa.
+
+"Girls are afraid of real things, of imaginary noises, and even of
+unreal shadows," jeered Fil.
+
+"No wonder, if you refer to this damp cave," remarked Fil's mother.
+
+Creeping up quietly to the entrance, Fil and Moro threw stones and
+oranges and mangoes up to the echoing roof.
+
+"Lie down quick," shouted Fil's father.
+
+We had need to stoop, for there was a whirring in the roof of the
+cave and over its mouth, like the sound of birds or aeroplanes.
+
+"What are they, owls or eagles?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Furry fruit-bats, as large as flying cats," laughed Fil, who was
+proud of his secret cave and of his discovery.
+
+"You don't really mean to say that those large flying things have fur,
+and eat fruit?" I asked.
+
+"Exactly," replied Fil's father. "These are the large Philippine
+bats. The wings of some of them are three feet across. Ladies use
+their fur to decorate gowns. The bats live on fruit, just as monkeys
+do; only the bats eat at dusk, and sleep during the day. That is why
+we caught them napping, by going to the cave in daylight."
+
+"Wonderful country! Wonderful new kinds of life! I notice too that
+your cattle have humps on their shoulders," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," replied Fil's father, "our cattle, though smaller than yours,
+have high humps on their shoulders. They are of the Indian and Chinese
+breed; not of the English breed. But they are very good animals and
+have beautiful soft eyes, which seem to cry and plead for pity. We
+use them also to draw our carts."
+
+"I notice that others of the Philippine animals are also of the
+toy order; tiny but lovely specimens, like your spirited but small,
+black horses," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," said Fil's father, "our Malay horses, just like the Chinese
+horses, are more like spirited little ponies. They have hard mouths,
+but when they know you and are well treated, they obey well. Some day,
+when you ride over the hills on one, you will see how sure-footed
+they are on the trails; as safe as mountain goats. Your larger horses
+would tumble over in those difficult places."
+
+One of the disturbed bats had settled in a tree. He was clinging upside
+down, with his wings folded over his eyes. Up the trunk of the tree,
+the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it.
+
+"That cat should be a fisherman," I exclaimed in a joking manner.
+
+"Yes," answered Fil, "some of our yellow cats have odd, hooked tails,
+just like monkey tails."
+
+"Maybe they once hung from tree branches by their tails, along with
+the furry monkeys," suggested Moro, who often thought of the odd side
+of things.
+
+"What a gripping tale you are telling," added Fil, who indulged in
+roguish puns.
+
+"Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats," said Moro.
+
+"Imagination has as much as taste to do with food; and, unless you call
+my next stewed monkey dish, deer or lamb, I won't eat it," I remarked.
+
+Fil and Moro laughed and winked; for they had planned this true but
+strange story to make me feel uncomfortable for a minute.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+FLYING ANTS AND LOCUSTS
+
+
+We all climbed back into the buffalo-wagon, to go homeward. On the
+way, we passed a house which had collapsed in the middle, as though
+a great weight had broken its backbone.
+
+"A blind, flying ant did that," said Fil.
+
+"Now, Fil, you really think I'm from the backwoods; you wish me to
+believe impossible tales," I replied.
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Fil. "A flying white ant broke the thick
+beams of that big building, just as though a mountain fell on it,
+or as if an earthquake had rent it."
+
+"Why, then, did they not stop the ants, the silly, lazy people?" I
+exclaimed.
+
+"Because they couldn't see or hear them," said Fil. "You see,
+it happens in this way. Our deadly white ant flies in a cloud of
+ants. When he reaches a house, he bores inside; then he is happy. He
+feels his way. He does not need to see. He just follows his nose,
+so to speak.
+
+"His sense of smell, perhaps, draws him to the lumber of the house
+on which he lives. He does not like air. So, when he reaches a beam,
+he and all the other brother ants eat out the heart of it; but they
+do not break the shell, which is painted. The people in the house do
+not know anything about this, for the ants of course make no noise,
+and the painted outside surface of the beam is unbroken.
+
+"Suddenly there is a strain during a typhoon, or a jar is caused by
+some person walking overhead; and down comes the whole house, like
+a person whose bones suddenly give way and become powder. The ants
+have escaped, because they have eaten the whole beam and have gone
+elsewhere for food."
+
+"Can't you catch and destroy such awful pests?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, yes! It's great fun," replied Filippa. We place a pail of water in
+a dark place, and light a candle which floats on a saucer. The ants fly
+to the light. Their wings are burnt off; and, silly, half-blind things,
+they all get drowned or wet, so that we can gather and destroy them."
+
+"They can nip you, too," said Moro, who was slapping at something on
+his hand.
+
+"Some people in the Philippines eat insects--the locusts. They fry them
+in coconut oil. Did you ever hear of such a wonder?" asked Filippa.
+
+"Come to think of it, yes; for in the Bible it says that the food
+of John the Baptist, the great prophet, was locusts and wild honey,
+when he was in distress in the wilderness."
+
+"What does _locust_ mean?" asked the wise Padre. Nobody seemed to know.
+
+"It means leaping," said the Padre.
+
+"That's how we catch them," said Fil. "Before their wings grow, they
+jump. We dig deep ditches and chase them by beating drums, for they
+dislike noise. They jump and fall into the ditch, which, however, is
+too high for them to jump out of. Then we pour on oil and burn them."
+
+"If we didn't, they'd eat up all our crops," remarked the Padre.
+
+"I know a bird that catches them. I've seen it," said Fil, whose eyes
+were very sharp, like a boy scout in the woods.
+
+"What kind of a bird?" inquired Filippa, who loved bird pets.
+
+"A kind of Chinese ground-lark. It has large eyes and a long bill,
+and its feathers are spotted," replied Fil.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+BOATS AND FISH
+
+
+We were passing over the bridge that carried the road over an arm of
+the sea,--the purple sea, which had a white foam-edge.
+
+I noticed a boat moving against the tide. It had no engine, no sails,
+no rowers at the oarlocks. Only one man was on deck, leaning on a
+long pole. He walked slowly from the front to the back of the boat,
+still leaning on the long pole.
+
+"Here's another wonder of your marvelous Philippines--a boat moving
+without exerting power," I exclaimed.
+
+Fil looked at Moro and smiled. I saw that they both pitied my ignorance
+in a strange land. Then Fil said kindly:
+
+"Don't you see the man walking steadily along the running board,
+from the front to the back of the boat? Well, he is pushing on a long
+pole, and that power moves the boat against the tide. The pole reaches
+down to the bottom, through the shallow water. If the boat is loaded,
+and if the cargo is very heavy, two men push on each pole. The pole
+is a thick bamboo stick."
+
+"I also notice a curved deck or covering, laid over the boats," I said.
+
+"Yes, that is a roof, or thatch, made out of nipa palm leaves tied
+on to bamboo sticks," Fil explained.
+
+"Please look!" said sweet little Filippa. "Out there on the purple
+ocean is a more wonderful boat still."
+
+I looked. Oddest of sights! A boat shaped like a long leaf was scudding
+before the wind. The one sail seemed to pull the boat over from the
+wind. No one was really in the boat. But sitting far out, on a bamboo
+out-rigger, high into the wind-side, above the water, a sailor was
+balancing the boat and holding the sail by a long rope. Only on one
+side of the boat was there a bamboo pole fixed lengthways. It did not
+seem to be a well-balanced boat, yet it sailed along at a great speed;
+and risky as the sport seemed, the sailor sat perfectly safe on his
+high and dangerous looking perch, above the water.
+
+"What kind of boat is that?" I asked.
+
+"An out-rigger boat. Some people call it a dug-out boat," replied
+Filippa.
+
+"I'll tell you more about it," added Fil. "The boat itself is half of
+a solid log, hollowed out by fire and axe and knife. It is chipped
+and scraped smooth on the outside, and the ends are pointed. If the
+wind dies down, the sailor has to paddle the heavy boat home. Then
+he sits over on the side opposite the out-rigger, so as to balance
+it. But when he has hoisted sail, he sits on the out-rigger, as the
+sail balances the boat on the sailing side, opposite the wind. The
+boat easily rolls over, because it has no sharp keel going down into
+the water. But it is swifter before the wind, just because it has no
+keel to keep it back."
+
+"Very clever are your Filipino sailors," I admitted. "Tell me if the
+boats are used for other purposes than sport."
+
+"Oh, yes," said quiet little Favra, Filippa's chum. "The sailors
+fish in them and bring us home fish with names as wonderful as are
+their colors."
+
+"Tell me the names, please," I asked.
+
+Favra slowly thought of three and replied: "The pompano, all silver,
+gold, and purple, and as wide as it is long; the fighting barracuda,
+so hard to bring in to the boat; and the leaping tuna, that jumps
+out of the water and out of the boat perhaps."
+
+Fil added: "Then there's the bonito, as big as a pig, though its name
+jokingly means 'good little one'; the sail fish which lifts its fin
+into the wind; and the garoupa."
+
+"Wonderful names," I admitted.
+
+"And all wonderfully good to eat," added Moro, who was often thinking
+of dinners and feasts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SAW MILL; MUD SLEIGHS; WOODEN PLOWS
+
+
+"At what are you going to earn your living when you grow up,
+Fil?" asked the Padre, who was his teacher, when we all met again
+under the whispering bamboos next morning.
+
+Fil thought a minute, pursed his chest out like a pouter pigeon,
+and replied to the great admiration of Filippa, who was a very
+loyal sister:
+
+"I shall be a Senator, or President."
+
+"Come down from the clouds, Master Fil," replied his father;
+"stop dreaming and say something practical. There can be only one
+President and only a few score Senators. So if every one had your
+aims, millions would starve. Yet millions are working happily, and
+earning wages which buy them what they need, if their ideas are not
+too selfish. They do not need to bow to wretched, cringing politics."
+
+"At what do they work?" eagerly inquired Fil.
+
+"Come and see," said Fil's father and the Padre together. We all
+followed.
+
+"Here's a lumber yard; let us go in," said Fil's father.
+
+"That man on top of that huge, uplifted log will topple off, and that
+man underneath will get his eyes filled with sawdust," I exclaimed.
+
+"That's our way of sawing lumber," explained Fil's father. "We lift
+up one end of the log. One man gets on top and the other man below;
+and between them they pull up and down the heavy saw, until half of
+the log all feathers out into many boards. Then they raise the other
+end, and the men saw down to meet those first cuts, while board after
+board falls down."
+
+"Don't you have round saws of steel, driven by machinery?" I asked.
+
+"Not always," said Fil's father. "The wages here are so low that
+we can afford to hire men to do handwork. This gives many men work,
+and keeps them from being idle and discontented."
+
+"But here is one very round log which they are sawing across grain,
+into round wheels; and they are boring one hole into the center,"
+I exclaimed.
+
+"They really are wheels for buffalo carts. Don't you remember your
+ride the other day?" asked Fil.
+
+I did remember the heavy, creaking wheel, made of one solid piece
+of wood.
+
+"They never need an iron rim," added Fil's father; "and so are not
+as heavy as they look."
+
+"Why, here's a low sleigh, being made out of bamboo poles, runners
+and boards. Do you have winter here after all?" I asked.
+
+"No, nothing but hottest summer always. But we have much rain, and
+our roads are not all paved with rock," explained Fil's father. "If
+we used those high wheels on the muddy roads, they would sink so far
+down that the buffalo or bullock could not pull out the cart that
+was loaded with rice or sugar."
+
+"So you see, the sleigh slips more easily through the slippery mud,"
+added Fil.
+
+"But what if you fell off, a mile from a crossing?" I asked laughingly.
+
+"Oh, he jokes too, and you don't check him," remarked Fil, who looked
+at his father. Fil's father smiled.
+
+"What is this tough, crooked elbow stick, fixed to a long pole?" I
+inquired.
+
+"A plow," answered Fil wisely:
+
+"Don't joke. How can you have a plow wholly made of wood?" I asked.
+
+"I'll tell you," said Fil. "You see our rice fields are flooded and
+soft. We do not need a solid heavy steel plow, such as you need in
+hard, dry land. The water buffalo, who loves to wade through the
+flooded rice fields, easily pulls this bent stick, which plows up
+the mud. Then we drain the field and plant the rice seedlings, and
+flood the field again, because rice must grow in water."
+
+"It is a peculiar but lovely Philippines that you live in ; so
+different from our country, but perhaps even more charming," I added.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+UMBRELLAS; CHAIRS; MILK-BOTTLE
+
+
+"Please show us an umbrella shop," begged Filippa and Favra together;
+for they had been whispering about what they would like to see.
+
+"This way, then," said her father and the Padre.
+
+We walked along several narrow streets, which had bamboo blinds hung
+between the second stories, so as to keep out the strong sun.
+
+When we came to a certain door space, which really had no hinged door,
+Filippa's father moved aside the dangling ropes, made of glass and
+bamboo beads, which hung across the entrance. This made a tinkling
+noise, and attracted the workman to the front.
+
+"We would like to see your umbrellas," explained Fil's father.
+
+I thought the workman would show us silk or cloth ones, that would
+roll up tight.
+
+"Why, this one is very thick," I said.
+
+"Lift it. It really is not heavy," explained Fil's father.
+
+"How is it made?" I inquired.
+
+"It is made out of split bamboos, which are spread out in a
+circle. Oiled silk, or oiled hemp cloth, is pasted over the frame. It
+all costs very little," explained Fil's father.
+
+"But they are so thick, I could not put more than one in my umbrella
+stand at home," I said.
+
+"There you are joking again," laughed Fil, who added: "We Filipinos
+hang our umbrella up on the veranda roof, where it is ornamental,
+as well as useful when wanted."
+
+"You see our umbrellas are made in pretty colors," explained Filippa,
+who certainly showed that she would become a good housekeeper.
+
+"Now, would you like to see a chair-shop, where they use no saw or
+plane or nails?" asked Fil.
+
+"It seems nonsense, because our chairs at home are sawn from oak logs;
+and they are so filled with tacks and nails that they tear my clothes,"
+I replied.
+
+"Around this corner," said Fil, who was proud to lead the way.
+
+Surely enough, Filipino workmen were tying lengths of bamboo poles
+together, with tough rattan vine, for the frame of a chair. The back
+was made of laced rattan and grasses. The seat was made of split
+bamboo, round side up, and all was as smooth, restful, light, and
+pliable as could be wished; and not a dangerous nail nor a saw used
+to make it.
+
+"You can throw these chairs about. They never break, because they
+give way a little, like a spring. They are elastic, yet strong,"
+explained Fil's father.
+
+"And they cost only a few cents," added the Padre.
+
+"We don't care when they burn up," remarked Fil, who received from
+his father a stern look, and the order not to joke too much.
+
+As we walked home, we passed a man who carried a bamboo over one
+shoulder. At one end of the pole hung a thick piece of hollow
+bamboo. At the other end of the pole hung an earthenware jug, tied
+in a net of rattan. Behind him followed a herd of goats.
+
+"Fresh milk and bottled milk for children," he cried.
+
+"What is he, a curio seller?" I asked.
+
+"No, a milkman," answered Fil. "The bamboo jug is a pint measure. The
+earthen bottle holds the milk. And if you want fresh, warm milk for
+the baby, he will milk it here from one of his nibbling goats, right
+into the bamboo jug."
+
+"Always fresh milk!" shouted the vendor, as with his fingers, he made
+a snapping sound to call his herd of goats.
+
+"Really, a walking dairy," I remarked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+HOME LIFE
+
+
+We were all tired when we reached home. The Angelus bell was sounding
+from the high white tower of the Iglesia. Every one stood still,
+bowed, made the holy sign, and then said a quiet prayer.
+
+After a late dinner, Fil and Filippa as usual kissed the hands of
+their parents, bowed to them, and retired.
+
+I thought how dutiful a custom this was, and I recalled how, in my
+own country, too many rude, selfish children, full of conceit, have
+little respect for their parents, and really attempt to order their
+elders around. The Filipino boy seems to know his place, as a boy.
+
+The grander Philippine houses, on the second floor, have a large hall
+called the "caida" (ca e'da). Here every one meets to enjoy the feasts
+or music. The kitchen and the bath-house are small separate buildings
+in the yard, or "azotea" (a tho tai'a). Every one must bathe once a
+day at least.
+
+During the great heat of the day, after lunch, or "tiffin" as it is
+called, everyone sleeps a restful hour or two. Therefore visiting
+and dinners are carried on long into the night, when it is cooler.
+
+To keep out the sun, instead of glass, opaque mussel shells are used
+in the many little frames of the windows. This makes a pearly, soft
+light, like moonshine in the house, even on the brightest, hottest day.
+
+I noticed that women stood in the streams, and pounded clothes on
+smooth, round rocks.
+
+"That's our way of washing, out in nature's laundry," explained
+Filippa's mother.
+
+When Fil and Filippa were aroused each morning, I noticed that their
+mother did not touch or shake them, and I ventured to ask why she
+called so long and loud, even though she was standing over them. I
+remarked that in our land, a father would soon shake his lazy boy
+awake.
+
+"You shock me," replied Fil's mother. "We in the Philippines believe
+that it is most unlucky to disturb the sleeping spirit of a person
+by a touch. When the spirit is ready to answer to the call, it is
+ready to awake and come back into this world."
+
+"Why, how superstitious!" I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack
+of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences on
+unimportant things.
+
+"Not more superstitious than you are, when you refuse to pass under a
+ladder, or to begin a voyage on a Friday," Fil's mother answered. Then
+I realized that every person, every race, and every nation, and
+every color of mankind have their faults as well as their virtues,
+weak points as well as strong and good ones. There is something good
+in even the worst of us; and, perhaps, something bad in the best of us!
+
+"I can testify that you Filipinos surpass my people in one thing,"
+I said.
+
+"Thank you. What is it?" asked Fil's mother and father together.
+
+"Respect for parents and poor relations," I answered. "Fil and Filippa
+kiss your hand and bow, morning and night. You, though a father and
+mother, are also as dutiful as children. You keep grandfather and
+grandmother, and poor old relations around the home, where they can
+always have a place to sleep, a kind hand near, and can get a bite to
+eat anyway, and a tear of sympathy over their sick bed, at the last."
+
+"By our religion, and by the warmth of our own hearts, we Filipinos
+believe it to be a cruel sin to send our parents and relatives to
+asylums. God gave us to them at the beginning of life, and God gives
+them to us at the end of life," replied Fil's pious mother.
+
+"What a very, very beautiful saying, and what a beautiful deed!" I
+said.
+
+Fil's grandmother was sitting in a corner of the room. I could see
+a tear of joy stealing down her sweet old face.
+
+We all now rose; saluted each other; and, as we retired for the night,
+we each said "Adios" (a de os'), which means "good night" or "good-by,"
+or really, "To God we commend you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+DRESS
+
+
+The next morning the washwoman was bringing in the clothes. Knowing
+that I was a stranger, and would like to bring a true story home to
+American boys and girls, Fil's mother asked me: "Would you like to
+learn the names and kinds of our garments? You will notice that they
+are very different from yours."
+
+"Certainly I would. I live in a land where some people spend more
+time over clothes than over learning, character, good deeds, or the
+day's duty," I replied.
+
+"This large flowing skirt of red, green, or white, is made of cotton,
+or hemp; and sometimes a little silk may be mixed in. We like bright
+colors, and a long train. No short, tight skirts in our styles,"
+explained Filippa's mother.
+
+"How sensible," I remarked.
+
+"This loose waist or chemisette is sometimes white and sometimes
+colored. It is made of jusi cloth, that is, cloth woven from banana
+leaf fiber. You see it is softer, thinner, and cooler than your linen
+or cotton."
+
+"It is lovely," I acknowledged.
+
+"Loose wide collars are in style with you now, but they have always
+been in style here. We call it 'panuelo' (pa nu ai'lo). It is our
+whitest, thinnest fiber, made from pineapple leaves, just like our
+handkerchiefs that I told you about. You see we starch it. It hangs
+down the back to a point, and it is very cool and dainty," explained
+Filippa's mother.
+
+"What wide sleeves!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, sinamei chemisettes, or waists, have very wide sleeves, but are
+short to the elbow. We starch them out, so they will be cool and neat,"
+replied Filippa's mother.
+
+"I notice that Filippa's hair is worn plain," I remarked.
+
+"Yes," replied her mother, "we brush the hair back plain; tie a knot or
+leave it loose. We like jewelry, and we wear splendid lace mantillas,
+or shawls, over the head."
+
+"What odd slippers with no heels!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, we all like to have our feet ready to jump into mud or water,
+for our roads are not yet good. These slippers are called 'chinelas'
+(che nay'las). They have no heel and just a catch to put the toe
+in. They have no laces. With them we slide along the ground. But we
+cannot back up straight, or run last in them. If we wish to go back
+we must turn around, so as to keep our chinelas on our toes. The
+young people do not wear stockings in our warm climate, where one
+lives close to Nature,--too close sometimes, when the snake bites."
+
+"But taken all together, what a happy Eden this is for a boy or a
+girl," I added.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE "ADIOS" FEAST
+
+
+Next day as we were walking down the road to the good-by feast,
+I noticed a crowd gathered in a circle, and stooping over.
+
+"What are they doing; digging gold?" I asked.
+
+"No, they are making game-fowl fight," Moro replied. "They wager
+money on which will be the winner and put the other to flight. The
+boys and men get very much excited."
+
+"This good-by feast in your honor, before you return home, is called
+a 'fiesta' (fe ais'ta)," explained Filippa. "Father and mother and
+Fil have spoken to the Padre, and the barrio-elders; and everything
+is arranged."
+
+"But what is a 'barrio'?" I inquired.
+
+"It means a village, a ward," replied Filippa.
+
+I could hear bands and orchestras gathering. Here and there were tall
+bamboos bent over the paths, and from their arches hung banners and
+colored paper lanterns.
+
+Carromatos (car ro ma' tos), small carriages drawn by little black
+ponies, were bringing people in. The men and boys were dressed in
+white duck, as though they were going aboard yachts.
+
+In front of the houses and the Iglesia (church) and convent were hung
+flags, festoons, streamers, wreaths, and bunting.
+
+Flowers and palm leaves were strewn along the path that the procession
+would take.
+
+Then we all started. The procession was led by the bands to the
+Iglesia, where, from the high campanile tower, the church bells were
+ringing. In the church the good Padre said a few words, and gave us
+all his prayers and blessing.
+
+While we were inside, evening had fallen. When we stepped out into the
+square, we saw a fairy starry land. Some one had lighted not only the
+lanterns and torches, but the larger southern stars of these tropical
+islands were shining brightly overhead. Colored rockets were also
+shot up into the night.
+
+The barrio-saint--really, the small statue of the patron saint of
+the village--was carried at the head of the procession.
+
+Then to the music of the bands, we all marched home to the big upper
+hall, and gathered around a wonderful table. Roast pig, chicken,
+pheasant; mountains of rice and fruit; candied ginger and mango;
+pickled chutney, which is sweet and sour at the same time and also
+spiced; coconut and nipa wine; flowers as big as a hat and smelling
+as sweet as a bottle of perfume! Sandalwood and spice-incense smoked
+sweetly, and nearly hid the good Padre and Fil's father, who sat at
+the head of the table.
+
+The orchestra tinkled all kinds of drums, castanets, bells, fiddles;
+many of them having strange shapes and shrill noises. Funny,
+fat-cheeked boys were blowing the very life out of the flutes. All
+were very happy!
+
+"Not happy to see you leave, but trying to make you so happy that you
+will not have time to entertain regrets to-night. We want to remember
+your smiling face," said Fil's father.
+
+Then the table was cleared and moved. The company all gathered around
+the hall.
+
+Suddenly a hush; then a clamorous call of the orchestra! Then another
+hush--Filippa, dressed in silver spangle, and Fil, dressed in scarlet
+and gold, suddenly rushed from opposite sides of the hall to do the
+love-dance, in which the brave soldier woos and wins his sweetheart.
+
+They came near each other. She seemed to be coy; to quarrel
+sometimes; to beg; to promise. They whirled about; they executed
+steps; they snapped castanets. The orchestra sang, whistled, snapped,
+strummed. The music flowed in waltzes; it jerked in Castilian measures;
+it whispered. It serenaded, while Fil carried a mandolin with a
+ribbon. Filippa dropped her handkerchief: Fil gracefully picked it
+up. He danced in pleading. He showed all the pretty steps he could
+do. As a sign that the soldier had won his lady-love, Filippa at
+last consented that he should return the handkerchief, crown her
+proudly with it on her cloud of thick hair, and waltz away with her
+triumphantly.
+
+It was a pretty tableau. The orchestra broke out in loud and full
+harmony, with now and then a wild Moro yell or shout, from the flutes
+and drums.
+
+How we applauded! Fil and Filippa had to bow their thanks many times,
+from the side of the caida (hall).
+
+Then there was another pause, after the Padre and Fil's father had
+whispered.
+
+Suddenly Moro ran out with a rush, to give a wild Mohammedan dance.
+
+How strangely he was dressed! He wore tight red trousers, a red and
+blue turban on his head, and a tight jeweled tunic, covered with pearl
+buttons. His sash was green, dotted with purple spots. He had purple
+parrot feathers at his waist and in his turban.
+
+His feet were bare, as is the custom in his native wilds in the south
+island. The round shield that he carried, glistened. He waved two
+terrible kriss-knives, with jeweled handles. Over his shoulder he
+carried a spear. How he drummed on that shield! He hurled his knives
+into the air, and cleverly caught them before they fell. He seemed to
+pursue a foe; to crouch like a boy scout; to listen; to follow the
+track; to meet the foe; to battle for his life and country. At last
+he seemed to conquer with a wild yell, just as he was hurled backward
+and his shield was thrown aside. All this, while we held our breath
+in excitement, he acted in his strange, barbaric dance, keeping time
+with the wind-like, volcano-like music of his native Moro islands.
+
+The fiesta and the dances were over at last. The dancers and the
+guests departed.
+
+Next morning, as we stood on the coconut wharf waiting for the boat
+to come in, Fil perhaps noticed that I looked sad. I saw by his smile
+that he was preparing one of his jokes to cheer me up.
+
+"Father," said he, "may I take our friend back to America, so as to
+see that he arrives all right?"
+
+"Wait till you grow bigger," replied Fil's father.
+
+"Then don't blame me if he gets lost," laughed little Fil, as he tried
+to stand on his tiptoes, and lifted his hand high above his head,
+so as to appear as tall as a man.
+
+After all this courtesy, all this happy, laughing time, in these sunny
+summer islands of the purple Philippine seas, it almost broke my heart,
+as I left for home, to answer Fil, Filippa, their kind parents, Moro,
+the good Padre, and little Favra who were calling from the wharf:
+"Adios, amigo" (a de os' a me'go)--"To God we commend you, our friend."
+
+
+                            THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+            Printed in the United States of America.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fil and Filippa, by John Stuart Thomson
+
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