, where our prophet was
born. We do not use music or organs."

All this Moro explained to us. What he told about his religion was
very different, very interesting, very new.

"There are good things in your religion," said the kind Padre, as he
placed his hand gently on Moro's dark head.

"You despise the use of intoxicating liquor. You teach the duty of
giving alms and of being charitable to the poor, the unfortunate, and
the sick. You teach that every one is his brother's keeper, and should
help his brother to succeed in life. You teach that cleanliness and
plain living are almost a part of religion. And we Christians agree
with you, Moro, in all these grand ideas; for I think that, with
all the sorrow now in the world, some of us have been too selfish,
too luxurious, as though we thought we would live forever, and had
no duty except to ourselves."

I, too, felt conscience-stricken for my homeland and for myself,
when I heard, in this odd and different quarter of our large world,
the Filipino Padre's true but kind moralizing over Moro's different
religion.

"The bells! Oh, the silver-sweet bells!" exclaimed Filippa's mother.

"The bells of love and peace," replied the Padre, as he glanced back
at the twin towers of his white Iglesia (church) that shone over the
grove of coconut palms.

CHAPTER IV

HOUSES

"What odd homes! toy houses toppling over from their stilts!" I
exclaimed, as we passed a remarkable village. All the buildings were
set up on poles, and had ladders for their dwellers to climb up to
the high doors. The houses looked as though the lower story had been
washed away, and only the second story remained. Over each window and
door projected a very neat eyebrow, so to speak, either to shed rain
or to keep out the sun.

"That is our famous nipa-thatch house used by the original Filipinos,"
said Moro. "I can explain all about it, for all Moros, and many
backward tribes, use these houses."

"Tell me everything," I urged.

"First," said Moro, "there is not one nail in a nipa-thatch
house. Perched high in the air on poles, as it is, you perhaps would
think our typhoons would blow it over, just like a light bandbox."

"So I would think," I replied.

"Well," laughed bright Moro, "let me ask you a question. What makes
a pole snap before the rush of a storm? What makes a brick wall give
way before a sudden wind? And why does a tree or a reed bear the
storm easily?"

"Because the tree and