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 play

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

“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

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. The

“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 p

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

“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, w

“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 t

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 b

“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. “I

“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 a

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 w

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

“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 shel

“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-rigg

“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

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 joki

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. “Th

“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′lō). 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

“It means a village, a ward,” replied Filippa. Fiesta 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 rō 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,

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