Published September, 1917. Names. II. Climate, Typhoons, Volcano
III. The Forest
X. Minerals
XI. Water Buffalo
XII. Boats and Fish
XV. 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 Guest. I asked. There we
spend most of our time roving in boats, and hunting over the hills. I asked. It is best to wear thick, white paper helmets. Moreover,
our climate is more damp than is America's climate. I asked. 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 winds arise and sweep all one way,
for a time. 'Fung' or 'phoon,' means a wind. asked Fil. "I'll tell you some other time. The hat, therefore, is light,
durable, and cool," he replied. I asked. "At the Iglesia (ig lai se'a)," replied Moro. Over the tree tops, rose a noble
white dome. He sang in a voice as clear as a bird's:
"Come, Holy Spirit, Come." It was Fil who was singing. It was all very solemn and very sweet. "When are you going to be a Christian, little Moro?" "I am a Mohammedan. I have heard it is peculiar,"
said Filippa. There, also,
is the birthplace of Mohammed, our prophet. We do not use music or organs." Oh, the silver-sweet bells!" I
exclaimed, as we passed a remarkable village. "Tell me everything," I urged. "So I would think," I replied. "Well," laughed bright Moro, "let me ask you a question. "That is just it," again laughed my little Master Moro. I
inquired. "It grows in swamps, often
near the sea. I asked. We do not smoke within our nipa
houses; it is too dangerous." "That is the doctor's way of drawing a figure of speech," laughed
the Padre. 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. In each fruit are
twenty of these seeds, or cocoa beans. "They have hard skins, and are very bitter and stimulating. The cocoa bean is very oily. To make chocolate,
the oil is not extracted." "It is really true, when one adds the sugar," remarked the Padre. "Now tell me please about coffee, also," I begged. They are ground in a small mill, as you know." I inquired. Then the shepherd ate the berries,
too, and felt stimulated himself. Instead of eating the berry, we grind it and
steep it, and drink the liquor." "I know," replied Fil's father. "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." "Names are sometimes misleading," replied the Padre. "Wonderful and beautiful and useful islands," I confessed. We do not let it flower. The huge leaves are cut near
the root, and new leaves grow up at once. 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. We Filipinos,
also, split the fiber and weave it into many kinds of cloth. The cane is cut down. I inquired. "Not in these islands," replied the Padre. I inquired. We use it for fuel, to light the fires under
the kettles." 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." "Tell it out," demanded Filippa's mother. "Let me see it," I demanded. "Please let me tell all its other valuable qualities," said Fil. "If you cut a coconut in half, you have two cups, or dishes. "I'll tell you more about it," Moro eagerly intruded. I inquired. "Tell about our indigo," suggested her brother Fil. "Very well told," remarked Filippa's mother. Moro laughed, and began to throw sticks up into a tall tree. I inquired. "Such nonsense. "The monkeys know how to open the spiked fruit better than you do,"
said Fil. Then the wild monkeys race down the tree, and
eat up the custard durian. I inquired. "Oh, no!" replied Moro. The fruit, shaped like a pear,
is yellow." I inquired. Please hand our friend one,"
said Filippa. "Eat one. I bit eagerly into one, and at once threw it far away. "Why, it's turpentine; it's paint," I said. "I didn't think you'd do
this to me, Moro." I inquired. "I'll show you," replied Moro. And such I found it to be. I inquired. I asked. "That is the molave. "You should think so," answered her father. "It is the lanete. "Here's a skipping rope," exclaimed Filippa. "No, a boat rope," explained Fil. "That is the Ylang," said the Padre. I inquired; for I seemed to have
no acquaintance with nature at all, in this wonderfully different land. "Is it the little quinine, or cinchona, tree?" I inquired. "No, it is a sister tree. The time spent in making it, explains its great cost." It certainly is a cloth fit for a queen," I replied. "Soon," laughed her mother. "Stop your joking," replied Fil's mother. I inquired. We
put the ore into a clay kettle, and melt the rock out of it. 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 exclaimed. "Boys, boys, be careful!" I cried. "Get down, you foolish boy!" I exclaimed. I asked Fil. It looks
like a piece of hose-pipe," I exclaimed. All, except Filippa and Favra, got off at the
mouth of a cave. "Lie down quick," shouted Fil's father. I exclaimed. I asked. "Exactly," replied Fil's father. The bats live on fruit, just as monkeys
do; only the bats eat at dusk, and sleep during the day. "Wonderful country! They have hard mouths,
but when they know you and are well treated, they obey well. Up the trunk of the tree,
the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it. "Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats," said Moro. "A blind, flying ant did that," said Fil. "Not a bit of it," said Fil. "Why, then, did they not stop the ants, the silly, lazy people?" I
exclaimed. "You see,
it happens in this way. He does not need to see. He just follows his nose,
so to speak. He does not like air. I asked. "Oh, yes! It's great fun," replied Filippa. The ants fly
to the light. asked Filippa. "It means leaping," said the Padre. "That's how we catch them," said Fil. "Before their wings grow, they
jump. 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." inquired Filippa, who loved bird pets. It had no engine, no sails,
no rowers at the oarlocks. Only one man was on deck, leaning on a
long pole. said sweet little Filippa. I looked. No one was really in the boat. 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. It is chipped
and scraped smooth on the outside, and the ends are pointed. Then
he sits over on the side opposite the out-rigger, so as to balance
it. "Very clever are your Filipino sailors," I admitted. "Oh, yes," said quiet little Favra, Filippa's chum. "Tell me the names, please," I asked. "Wonderful names," I admitted. They do not need to bow to wretched, cringing politics." eagerly inquired Fil. We all
followed. "Here's a lumber yard; let us go in," said Fil's father. I asked. "Not always," said Fil's father. asked Fil. I asked. I asked laughingly. "Oh, he jokes too, and you don't check him," remarked Fil, who looked
at his father. I
inquired. "A plow," answered Fil wisely:
"Don't joke. I asked. "I'll tell you," said Fil. We do not need a solid heavy steel plow, such as you need in
hard, dry land. "This way, then," said her father and the Padre. "Why, this one is very thick," I said. "Lift it. It really is not heavy," explained Fil's father. I inquired. Oiled silk, or oiled hemp cloth, is pasted over the frame. It
all costs very little," explained Fil's father. asked Fil. "And they cost only a few cents," added the Padre. "Fresh milk and bottled milk for children," he cried. "What is he, a curio seller?" I asked. "No, a milkman," answered Fil. "Really, a walking dairy," I remarked. The Filipino boy seems to know his place, as a boy. "You shock me," replied Fil's mother. "Why, how superstitious!" I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack
of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences on
unimportant things. "Thank you. "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. I
said. We like bright
colors, and a long train. "How sensible," I remarked. "It is lovely," I acknowledged. I exclaimed. I exclaimed. They have no heel and just a catch to put the toe
in. They have no laces. But we
cannot back up straight, or run last in them. I asked. "No, they are making game-fowl fight," Moro replied. I inquired. "It means a village, a ward," replied Filippa. Then we all started. While we were inside, evening had fallen. When we stepped out into the
square, we saw a fairy starry land. We want to remember
your smiling face," said Fil's father. He showed all the pretty steps he could
do. It was a pretty tableau. His sash was green, dotted with purple spots. The fiesta and the dances were over at last.