in
under the whispering bamboos next morning.

Fil thought a minute, pursed his chest out like a pouter pigeon,
and replied to the great admiration of Filippa, who was a very
loyal sister:

"I shall be a Senator, or President."

"Come down from the clouds, Master Fil," replied his father;
"stop dreaming and say something practical. There can be only one
President and only a few score Senators. So if every one had your
aims, millions would starve. Yet millions are working happily, and
earning wages which buy them what they need, if their ideas are not
too selfish. They do not need to bow to wretched, cringing politics."

"At what do they work?" eagerly inquired Fil.

"Come and see," said Fil's father and the Padre together. We all
followed.

"Here's a lumber yard; let us go in," said Fil's father.

"That man on top of that huge, uplifted log will topple off, and that
man underneath will get his eyes filled with sawdust," I exclaimed.

"That's our way of sawing lumber," explained Fil's father. "We lift
up one end of the log. One man gets on top and the other man below;
and between them they pull up and down the heavy saw, until half of
the log all feathers out into many boards. Then they raise the other
end, and the men saw down to meet those first cuts, while board after
board falls down."

"Don't you have round saws of steel, driven by machinery?" I asked.

"Not always," said Fil's father. "The wages here are so low that
we can afford to hire men to do handwork. This gives many men work,
and keeps them from being idle and discontented."

"But here is one very round log which they are sawing across grain,
into round wheels; and they are boring one hole into the center,"
I exclaimed.

"They really are wheels for buffalo carts. Don't you remember your
ride the other day?" asked Fil.

I did remember the heavy, creaking wheel, made of one solid piece
of wood.

"They never need an iron rim," added Fil's father; "and so are not
as heavy as they look."

"Why, here's a low sleigh, being made out of bamboo poles, runners
and boards. Do you have winter here after all?" I asked.

"No, nothing but hottest summer always. But we have much rain, and
our roads are not all paved with rock," explained Fil's father. "If
we used those high wheels on the muddy roads, they would sink so far
down that the buffalo or bullock could not pull out the cart that
was loaded with rice or sugar."

"So you see, the sleigh slips m