Fil and Filippa Part 8

"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 gra.s.ses. 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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s, opaque mussel sh.e.l.ls are used in the many little frames of the windows. This makes a pearly, soft light, like moons.h.i.+ne 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 was.h.i.+ng, 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 superst.i.tious!" I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences on unimportant things.

"Not more superst.i.tious than you are, when you refuse to pa.s.s 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 surpa.s.s 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. G.o.d gave us to them at the beginning of life, and G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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.