Part 6 (1/2)

”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.