Bats; Cattle; Horses; Cats; Monkeys

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“Let us stop here,” begged Fil.

The driver, who wore a mushroom-shaped bamboo hat, pulled the water buffalo to a stop. All, except Filippa and Favra, got off at the mouth of a cave.

“I won’t go in or near it,” exclaimed Filippa.

“Girls are afraid of real things, of imaginary noises, and even of unreal shadows,” jeered Fil.

“No wonder, if you refer to this damp cave,” remarked Fil’s mother.

Creeping up quietly to the entrance, Fil and Moro threw stones and oranges and mangoes up to the echoing roof.

“Lie down quick,” shouted Fil’s father.

We had need to stoop, for there was a whirring in the roof of the cave and over its mouth, like the sound of birds or aeroplanes.

“What are they, owls or eagles?” I exclaimed.

“Furry fruit-bats, as large as flying cats,” laughed Fil, who was proud of his secret cave and of his discovery.

“You don’t really mean to say that those large flying things have fur, and eat fruit?” I asked.

“Exactly,” replied Fil’s father. “These are the large Philippine bats. The wings of some of them are three feet across. Ladies use their fur to decorate gowns. The bats live on fruit, just as monkeys do; only the bats eat at dusk, and sleep during the day. That is why we caught them napping, by going to the cave in daylight.”

“Wonderful country! Wonderful new kinds of life! I notice too that your cattle have humps on their shoulders,” I remarked.

“Yes,” replied Fil’s father, “our cattle, though smaller than yours, have high humps on their shoulders. They are of the Indian and Chinese breed; not of the English breed. But they are very good animals and have beautiful soft eyes, which seem to cry and plead for pity. We use them also to draw our carts.”

“I notice that others of the Philippine animals are also of the toy order; tiny but lovely specimens, like your spirited but small, black horses,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Fil’s father, “our Malay horses, just like the Chinese horses, are more like spirited little ponies. They have hard mouths, but when they know you and are well treated, they obey well. Some day, when you ride over the hills on one, you will see how sure-footed they are on the trails; as safe as mountain goats. Your larger horses would tumble over in those difficult places.”

One of the disturbed bats had settled in a tree. He was clinging upside down, with his wings folded over his eyes. Up the trunk of the tree, the oddest kind of a cat was climbing after it.

“That cat should be a fisherman,” I exclaimed in a joking manner.

“Yes,” answered Fil, “some of our yellow cats have odd, hooked tails, just like monkey tails.”

“Maybe they once hung from tree branches by their tails, along with the furry monkeys,” suggested Moro, who often thought of the odd side of things.

“What a gripping tale you are telling,” added Fil, who indulged in roguish puns.

“Well, our monkeys are as good for men to eat, as for cats,” said Moro.

“Imagination has as much as taste to do with food; and, unless you call my next stewed monkey dish, deer or lamb, I won’t eat it,” I remarked.

Fil and Moro laughed and winked; for they had planned this true but strange story to make me feel uncomfortable for a minute.

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