THE RICH MAN'S HOME.
ONE day as the boy lay dreaming of the time when he should be allowed
to risk his life in a buffalo hunt, his quick ear heard the steps of
some one coming down the road. He jumped up and saw an old friend of
his father's, a well-known hunter. He carried a basket in each hand and
would not have stopped if Alila had not called out:
"Where have you been the last few days? And where are you going? Father
will be home soon and he will wish to see you."
"I am on my way to the master's house to sell these bird's nests and I
will stop here on my way back. I expect a good price for them. He told
me he would pay me well. Ah, but it was hard work getting them, my
little fellow! You never could have done it in the world."
Alila looked at the hunter with envy, for he knew how dangerous his
work had been. Among many people in the East, no food is thought so
great a dainty as these edible birds' nests. What queer tastes they
have! At least it seems so to us.
There is a certain kind of bird that makes its nest high up on the
sides of steep cliffs jutting out over the waters of the ocean. These
nests are like no others. The birds that build them swallow a certain
kind of glutinous weed growing on the coral rocks. They then cough it
up and use this material they have so oddly prepared in making their
nests.
Whenever a man makes it his business to search for these nests, he
knows the danger full well. Slowly and painfully he must climb the
sides of the cliffs, often placing his feet where we should think there
was no foothold whatever. He clutches at a sharp point of rock here,
or a twig there; but if it is not as safe as he believed, woe unto him!
For down he falls into the raging waters below and is a lucky man if he
is not dashed to pieces on the sharp rocks. Again, he may grow faint
and dizzy when he has climbed only a part of the way, or he may lose
his hold from very weakness.
The Chinese are as fond of these edible birds' nests as are the
Filipinos. Perhaps you have heard of the great Chinese viceroy, Li Hung
Chang, who came to visit us several years ago. He brought his own cooks
and a large supply of birds' nests and sharks' fins.
Alila joined the hunter on his way to the planter's mansion. The boy
wished to have a chance to see the grand lady, the planter's wife, and
their little daughter, who plays so beautifully on the harp.
They soon reached the house, which seemed very large beside Alila's
little cabin. It was two stories high. The lower part was of stone and
the upper half of wood. It would not have been safe to use stone above
the lower floor on account of the frequent earthquakes.
The roof was thatched with cogon grass. When it was built the planter
said to himself: "I will not have an iron roof like many of the city
houses; it would be too hot. I like the grass thatching much better."
Beautiful gardens where roses were always in bloom surrounded the
house. Bright-coloured birds flew about among the bushes, but they
had no songs for Alila and the hunter as they passed along. The broad
veranda was shaded by a clump of tall banana-trees, swaying to and fro
in the gentle breeze. How noble they looked, with their tufts of glossy
leaves at the very top, lapping over each other and shutting out the
sun's hot rays!
As Alila glanced up to see if the fruit was ripening the hunter said:
"Did you ever hear the stories told of the banana? Some say it is the
very fruit that tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden, while others think
that she and Adam made their first clothing of banana leaves."
"I wonder if that can be so," said the little boy, thoughtfully. "Any
way, I'm glad there is fresh fruit every month in the year; I like
bananas so much."
They reached the house as he finished speaking. The planter and his
wife were sitting alone on the veranda. Alila was disappointed in not
seeing their little daughter.
While the hunter was attending to his business with the planter, the
boy's bright eyes noted the lady's dress.
"I must tell mother all about it," he said to himself. "She will want
to know. My, what a long train she wears! It is so thin and delicate
I think it must be woven of pineapple fibre. What beautiful bright
colours it has!
"And how stiff her kerchief is! It stands up so high at the back of her
neck I should think it would feel very uncomfortable. Her chemisette is
very pretty, my mother would think. What wide sleeves! Still they are
short, so she can keep cool."
But the jewels! Alila had never seen so many before. The lady fairly
sparkled, with her gold earrings and bracelets, set with precious
stones. Surely there was going to be a party at the big house, or she
would not be dressed so finely.
Just as the boy was thinking this, the planter's wife turned her head
toward him and spoke.
"Alila, is it not time to tap the cocoanut-trees? Tell your father
I want some tuba as soon as possible. You are now such a big boy, I
suppose you will be able to help him get it."
The little fellow made a low bow and answered that his father had
spoken about it that very morning and had promised that he should help
him. Perhaps you remember that when Alila was christened there was a
good supply of tuba at the feast. Did you wonder what it could be?
On the sugar farm there is a clump of cocoanut-trees on which no fruit
ever grows. Why is this? Because all the sap which would be used by
Mother Nature in making blossoms and changing these into cocoanuts is
used for another purpose. It is drawn from the tree at a certain time
of the year to make a drink much loved by the natives.
Tapping the trees for tuba is dangerous work, but Alila, you know,
loves danger. He went home from the planter's mansion very happy, for
now he should have an errand there every day during the next few weeks.
For must he not bring the family a fresh bamboo of tuba each night and
morning?