"I notice that others of the Philippine animals are also of the toy order; tiny but lovely specimens, like your spirited but small, black horses," I remarked.

"Yes," said Fil's father, "our Malay horses, just like the Chinese horses, are more like spirited little ponies. They have hard mouths, but when they know you and are well treated, they obey well. Some day, when you ride over the hills on one, you will see how sure-footed they are on the trails; as safe as mountain goats. Your larger horses would tumble over in those difficult places."

One of the disturbed bats had settled in a tree. He was clinging upside down, with his wings folded over his eyes. Up the trunk of the tree, the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it.

"That cat should be a fisherman," I exclaimed in a joking manner.

"Yes," answered Fil, "some of our yellow cats have odd, hooked tails, just like monkey tails."

"Maybe they once hung from tree branches by their tails, along with the furry monkeys," suggested Moro, who often thought of the odd side of things.

"What a gripping tale you are telling," added Fil, who indulged in roguish puns.

"Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats," said Moro.

"Imagination has as much as taste to do with food; and, unless you call my next stewed monkey dish, deer or lamb, I won't eat it," I remarked.

Fil and Moro laughed and winked; for they had planned this true but strange story to make me feel uncomfortable for a minute.

CHAPTER XIII

FLYING ANTS AND LOCUSTS

We all climbed back into the buffalo-wagon, to go homeward. On the way, we pa.s.sed a house which had collapsed in the middle, as though a great weight had broken its backbone.

"A blind, flying ant did that," said Fil.

"Now, Fil, you really think I'm from the backwoods; you wish me to believe impossible tales," I replied.

"Not a bit of it," said Fil. "A flying white ant broke the thick beams of that big building, just as though a mountain fell on it, or as if an earthquake had rent it."

"Why, then, did they not stop the ants, the silly, lazy people?" I exclaimed.

"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 sh.e.l.l, which is painted. The people in the house do not know anything about this, for the ants of course make no noise, and the painted outside surface of the beam is unbroken.

"Suddenly there is a strain during a typhoon, or a jar is caused by some person walking overhead; and down comes the whole house, like a person whose bones suddenly give way and become powder. The ants have escaped, because they have eaten the whole beam and have gone elsewhere for food."

"Can't you catch and destroy such awful pests?" I asked.

"Oh, yes! It's great fun," replied Filippa. We place a pail of water in a dark place, and light a candle which floats on a saucer. The ants fly to the light. Their wings are burnt off; and, silly, half-blind things, they all get drowned or wet, so that we can gather and destroy them."

"They can nip you, too," said Moro, who was slapping at something on his hand.

"Some people in the Philippines eat insects--the locusts. They fry them in coconut oil. Did you ever hear of such a wonder?" asked Filippa.

"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. n.o.body seemed to know.

"It means leaping," said the Padre.

"That's how we catch them," said Fil. "Before their wings grow, they jump. We dig deep ditches and chase them by beating drums, for they dislike noise. 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."

"If we didn't, they'd eat up all our crops," remarked the Padre.

"I know a bird that catches them. I've seen it," said Fil, whose eyes were very sharp, like a boy scout in the woods.

"What kind of a bird?" inquired Filippa, who loved bird pets.

"A kind of Chinese ground-lark. It has large eyes and a long bill, and its feathers are spotted," replied Fil.

CHAPTER XIV

BOATS AND FISH

We were pa.s.sing over the bridge that carried the road over an arm of the sea,--the purple sea, which had a white foam-edge.

I noticed a boat moving against the tide. It had no engine, no sails, no rowers at the oarlocks. Only one man was on deck, leaning on a long pole. He walked slowly from the front to the back of the boat, still leaning on the long pole.

"Here's another wonder of your marvelous Philippines--a boat moving without exerting power," I exclaimed.

Fil looked at Moro and smiled. I saw that they both pitied my ignorance in a strange land. Then Fil said kindly:

"Don't you see the man walking steadily along the running board, from the front to the back of the boat? Well, he is pushing on a long pole, and that power moves the boat against the tide. The pole reaches down to the bottom, through the shallow water. If the boat is loaded, and if the cargo is very heavy, two men push on each pole. The pole is a thick bamboo stick."

"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-rigger, high into the wind-side, above the water, a sailor was balancing the boat and holding the sail by a long rope. Only on one side of the boat was there a bamboo pole fixed lengthways. It did not seem to be a well-balanced boat, yet it sailed along at a great speed; and risky as the sport seemed, the sailor sat perfectly safe on his high and dangerous looking perch, above the water.

"What kind of boat is that?" 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. "The boat itself is half of a solid log, hollowed out by fire and axe and knife. It is chipped and sc.r.a.ped smooth on the outside, and the ends are pointed. If the wind dies down, the sailor has to paddle the heavy boat home. Then he sits over on the side opposite the out-rigger, so as to balance it. But when he has hoisted sail, he sits on the out-rigger, as the sail balances the boat on the sailing side, opposite the wind. The boat easily rolls over, because it has no sharp keel going down into the water. But it is swifter before the wind, just because it has no keel to keep it back."