Francisco was a Filipino boy who lived in the southern part of the island of Luzon between the towns of Albay (Äl'-b?) and Camalig (Ca?-mÄ'-lig). If you will look at a map of the Philippine Islands, you can find these places. His home was on a large tract of land where his father raised rice for the use of the family, and abaca (Ä'-bÄ-cÄ), or Manila hemp, for the market. Back of their house was a grove of tall coconut trees. From the nuts which grew on these trees they made a part of their living, and their hemp crop was also of much value.

Francisco had one sister and two brothers, all older than himself. Pablo (PÄb'-lo), the oldest brother, was studying in the College of Santo Tomas (SÄn'-to To-mÄs') in Manila, preparing to be a priest, while JosÉ (Ho-sa') and Maria (Ma?-re?e'-Ä), the sister, were living at home and attending school.

This home was very interesting and quite different from the houses in which American boys and girls live. The house was made almost entirely of bamboo,—bamboo walls, floors, ceilings, and rafters. The roof consisted of the leaves of the nipa (ne?e'-pa) palm, sewed together to form shingles and tied to the rafters with strips of very strong rattan.

Filipinos always build their houses well up from the ground so as to be above the dampness. Francisco’s father had put their home on bamboo poles about six feet high. This made a large room underneath the house where were kept three pigs, a horse, and their little two-wheeled cart called a carromata (car-ro-mÄ'-tÄ). Francisco’s mother found bamboo floors convenient, because very little sweeping was necessary; crumbs and waste from the kitchen were dropped between the strips of bamboo to the ground below, and there the pigs and chickens quickly ate them.

In the front part of the house was a large room called a sala (sÄ'-lÄ), and here the family sat when their friends came to see them. There were a number of bamboo chairs and a table in this sala; large windows let in the light and air, and offered a view of the blue Pacific and the great Mayon (My-on') Volcano which lifted its head high among the clouds a few miles to the northward. These windows were not made of glass, however, but of small shells about three inches square, fitted into wooden frames that slid back and forth along the sill.

The floor of the sala was not bamboo. It was made of a beautiful hard wood of a dark red color, and was kept very smooth by polishing it with banana leaves; this was Francisco’s work, and he took much pride in it. Very often when friends came in for a visit, the table and chairs were pushed back against the wall, JosÉ brought out his musical instrument that looked like a guitar but sounded like a mandolin, and all would join in a dance.

The house contained several sleeping rooms with bamboo beds. Francisco preferred to sleep on the floor wrapped in a petate (pe-tÄ'-te), or grass mat. The beds were very simply made with bamboo legs and a bottom of woven rattan much like a cane-seated chair. JosÉ had learned at school that mosquito bites cause fever, and therefore he had arranged his own bed to be covered with mosquito netting; but the others of the family slept as Francisco did, completely wrapped in their petates.

The kitchen was a very different sort of place from those in American homes. The stove was a large square platform about four feet high, covered with soil packed down till it was almost as hard as rock, and having on it several stones. When Francisco’s mother wished to cook rice or boil a chicken, she made a little fire on this platform, drew two or three of the stones near it, and placed the pot or kettle on them and over the flames. Filipino houses never have chimneys, but the smoke finds its way out through the cracks in the bamboo walls. The wood used for cooking is usually cut into small sticks an inch or so in diameter and twelve or fifteen inches long, and, fortunately, burns with very little smoke.

Adjoining the kitchen was a small square room containing nothing but a large tin can with several small holes in the bottom, and a long rope passing over one of the bamboo rafters. When Francisco wished to take a bath, he filled this can with water, pulled it up over his head, and fastened the rope so that he could stand under the shower. The water ran on down through the bamboo floor to the ground below, making a cool, damp place for the pigs to lie.

Filipinos enjoy frequent baths because the hot climate of their country makes bathing a necessity. JosÉ would get home from school each morning about half past ten, take a cool bath and lie down for a siesta (si-es'-tÄ), or nap, during the hot noontime, for school did not begin again until half past two; then he would go back feeling refreshed and ready for an afternoon of hard study.

The siesta habit is a very general one in the Philippines. For an hour or more before and after noon, shops are closed, business stops, and the streets are deserted, while behind drawn shutters, the people are peacefully sleeping after their midday meal. About two o’clock, they take up their regular duties again, thoroughly rested from the morning’s exertions and the extreme heat of noontime. The custom is almost a necessity in tropical countries, and would undoubtedly be a valuable habit for the busy, hurrying American to practice, if he could only feel that the time could be spared for it.