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shade of overhanging trees. The air is vocal with the liquid notes
of birds, and fragrant with the heavy scent of flowers. A leaf-green
lizard creeps down on a horizontal trunk. The broad leaves of _abaca_
rustle in the breeze; the graceful stalks of bamboo crackle like
tin tubes. Around the bend the water ripples at the ford. At evening
you will see the tired men from the mountains, bending under heavy
loads of hemp, wade through the shallows to the cavern shelter of the
banyan-tree. Through the dense mango-grove comes the faint sound of
bells. The _puk-puk_ bird hoots from the jungle, and the black crows
settle in the lofty trees.

The covered bridge that spans the river near the mouth is a great
thoroughfare. Neither the arch nor pier is used in its construction;
it is anchored to the shore by cables. It is not a very rigid bridge,
and sways considerably when one is crossing it. Even the surefooted
ponies step a little gingerly over the loose beams that form the
floor. A curious procession is continually passing,--families moving
their worldly goods on carabaos, the dogs and children following;
_hombres_ on ponies, grasping the stirrups with their toes; a
padre with his gown caught up above his knees, riding away to some
confession; mountain people traveling in single file, and girls with
trays of merchandise upon their heads.

Down where the _nipa_ jungle thickens, fishing _bancas_ are drawn
up on the shore; and near by in a cocoanut-grove the old boatmaker
lives. The hull of the outlandish boat that he is carving is a solid
log. When finished, with its black paint, _nipa_ gunwale, bamboo
outriggers, and rat-lines made of parasitic vines, it will put out
from port with a big gamecock as a mascot, rowed with clumsy paddles
to the rhythm of a drum, its helpless grass sails flopping while the
sailors whistle for the wind. These boats, although they can not tack,
have one advantage--they can never sink. They carry bamboo poles for
poling over coral bottoms. In a fair breeze they attain considerable
speed; but there is danger in a heavy sea of swamping. When drawn up
on shore they look like big mosquitoes, as the body in proportion to
the rigging seems quite insignificant.

The little fishing village is composed of leaning shacks blown out
of plumb by heavy winds. Along the beach on bamboo racks the nets are
hanging out to dry. At night the little fleet puts out for Punta Gorda,
where a ruined watch-tower--a prote