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"And I haven't touched my Latin or French!" sighed Fil dismally. "I wish I could go to a school where there isn't any homework, and that somebody would invent a typewriter that would just spell the words ready-made when you press a button." "There's a fortune waiting for the man who does!" agreed Ingred.
"Three good balls gone in half an hour!" grieved Verity. "There'll soon be none left at this rate. I believe there must be a dozen at least lying on the grass over there, only that stingy old thing won't throw them back. It's really too bad." "How could we possibly get them?" ruminated Doreen. "Sham ill, get Dr. Broadfield to attend, and coax them out of him," suggested Fil.
"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.
"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."
"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.
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.
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.
It was a by-word in the school that his favorites had the stormiest lessons. "I'm thankful I'm not a pet pupil," declared Fil, whose playing was hardly of a classical order. "I should have forty fits if he stalked about the room, and tore his hair, and shouted like he does with Janie.
"We have another natural wonder here, the volcano," said Favra. 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.
It is an ill wind that blows nobody good, and though Nora, Fil, Ingred, and Verity might chafe at being debarred from tennis for a whole week, their adventure in the garden had given them an idea. How it exactly originated could not be decided, for each fiercely claimed the full credit for it. Its evolution, however, was somewhat as follows: Stage 1. How lovely the garden looked in the evening.
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