patron saint of
the village--was carried at the head of the procession.

Then to the music of the bands, we all marched home to the big upper
hall, and gathered around a wonderful table. Roast pig, chicken,
pheasant; mountains of rice and fruit; candied ginger and mango;
pickled chutney, which is sweet and sour at the same time and also
spiced; coconut and nipa wine; flowers as big as a hat and smelling
as sweet as a bottle of perfume! Sandalwood and spice-incense smoked
sweetly, and nearly hid the good Padre and Fil's father, who sat at
the head of the table.

The orchestra tinkled all kinds of drums, castanets, bells, fiddles;
many of them having strange shapes and shrill noises. Funny,
fat-cheeked boys were blowing the very life out of the flutes. All
were very happy!

"Not happy to see you leave, but trying to make you so happy that you
will not have time to entertain regrets to-night. We want to remember
your smiling face," said Fil's father.

Then the table was cleared and moved. The company all gathered around
the hall.

Suddenly a hush; then a clamorous call of the orchestra! Then another
hush--Filippa, dressed in silver spangle, and Fil, dressed in scarlet
and gold, suddenly rushed from opposite sides of the hall to do the
love-dance, in which the brave soldier woos and wins his sweetheart.

They came near each other. She seemed to be coy; to quarrel
sometimes; to beg; to promise. They whirled about; they executed
steps; they snapped castanets. The orchestra sang, whistled, snapped,
strummed. The music flowed in waltzes; it jerked in Castilian measures;
it whispered. It serenaded, while Fil carried a mandolin with a
ribbon. Filippa dropped her handkerchief: Fil gracefully picked it
up. He danced in pleading. He showed all the pretty steps he could
do. As a sign that the soldier had won his lady-love, Filippa at
last consented that he should return the handkerchief, crown her
proudly with it on her cloud of thick hair, and waltz away with her
triumphantly.

It was a pretty tableau. The orchestra broke out in loud and full
harmony, with now and then a wild Moro yell or shout, from the flutes
and drums.

How we applauded! Fil and Filippa had to bow their thanks many times,
from the side of the caida (hall).

Then there was another pause, after the Padre and Fil's father had
whispered.

Suddenly Moro ran out with a rush, to give a wild Mohammedan dance.

How strangely he was dressed! He wore tight