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Updated: June 16, 2025
"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. "Let us stop here," begged Fil.
"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.
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!
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.
"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.
"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.
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.
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.
"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.
It is difficult for the most accomplished actor to go on looking embarrassed for any length of time, and as Fil's eloquence in the scolding line suddenly failed her, there was an awful pause while the peasant husband, with wonderful agility considering his rheumatism, hopped to the door and called agitatedly for the missing performer.
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