t time before it began
to recede. They were unconsciously following this line of ocean
debris. Occasionally Marie would stop to pick up a spotted shell
which was more pretty than the rest. Finally, when they had gotten
as far north as the semi-circular drive-way which extends around
the southern and eastern sides of the walled-city, or Old Manila,
as it is called, and had begun to veer toward it, Marie looked back
and repeated a beautiful memory gem taught to her by a good friar
when she was a pupil in one of the parochial schools of Manila:

"E'en as the rise of the tide is told,
By drift-wood on the beach,
So can our pen mark on the page
How high our thoughts can reach."

They turned directly east until they reached the low stone-wall that
prevents Manila bay from overflowing the city during the periods
of high tides. Dimiguez helped Marie to step upon it; then they
strolled eastward past the large stake which marked the place where
the Spaniards had shot Dr. Jose Rizal, the brainiest patriot ever
produced by the Malay race.

When they came to the spot, Marie stopped and told Dimiguez how she
had watched the shooting when it took place, and how bravely Rizal
had met his fate.

"If it hadn't been for this outrage committed by the Spaniards,"
remarked Dimiguez, "this insurrection would not have lasted these two
years, and we would have been married before now; but our people are
determined to seek revenge for his death."

Then they started on, changed their course to the northward, entered
the walled-city by the south gate, walked past the old Spanish arsenal,
and then passed out of the walled-city by the north gate. Here they
crossed the Pasig river on the old "Bridge of Spain" (the large
stone bridge near the mouth of the river, built over 300 years ago)
and entered the Escolta, the main business street of Manila. After
making their way slowly up the Escolta they meandered along San Miguel
street until they finally turned and walked a short distance down a
side street to a typical native shack, built of bamboo and thatched
with Nipa palms, happily tucked away beneath the overhanging limbs
of a large mango tree in a spacious yard,--the home of the Sampalits.

Here Marie had been born just seventeen years before; in fact the next
day, April 7, would be her seventeenth birthday. When she was born,
her father instituted one of the accustomed Filipino danc