the day. Our efforts were rewarded
by innumerable gifts of cigarettes and many offers of _tanduay_
and gin. At one place we experimented with a piece of "_bud-bud_,"
which is (as its name implies) a sweet-meat made of rice paste mixed
with sugar. The hams with sugar frosting, and the cakes flavored with
native limes, and cut in the shape of the "Ensanguined Heart," were
more acceptable. At one house we received a cake made in the image of
a lamb, with sugar ringlets representing fleece. At our departure,
"many thanks, sir, for the visit," and a final attempt to get rid
of another cigarette. It is in bad taste to refuse. A Filipino host
would feel offended at your not accepting what he offered. He would
feel as though discrimination were implied.

At night after the cock-fight one droll fellow brought around
a miniature marionette theater, of which he was the proud
proprietor. While his assistant blew a bamboo flute behind the scenes,
the puppets danced fandangoes and played football in a very lifelike
manner. Seated on an empty cracker-box in front, surrounded by the
ragged picaninnies, sat Dolores, with her sparkling eyes, lips parted,
and her black hair hanging loose,--oblivious to everything except
the marionettes.

The star attraction was preceded by applause. The number was
announced by those familiar with the exhibition as a "Moro combat,"
and as the assistant struck a harrowing obligato on an old oil-can,
the Moros appeared with fighting _campalons_ and barbarous-looking
shields. The crowd expressed its approbation in wild howls. The first
two rounds were rather tame. "Afraid! Afraid!" exclaimed the crowd,
but presently the combatants began to warm up to their work and to
make frantic lunges at each other at the vital spot. This was the
time of breathless and instinctive pressing forward from the back
rows. Somebody cried out, "_Cebu!_" or "Down in front!" and then again,
"_Patai!_" which means "dead." One of the warriors at this cue flopped
supine on the stage, and the suppressed excitement broke. The victor,
not content with mere manslaughter, plied his sword so energetically
as quickly to reduce his victim to a state of hash. At this point
his Satanic majesty, the curtain manager, saw fit to intervene, and
with a long spear he successfully probed the limp remains, completing
the assassination. I had not known until then what a young barbarian
Dolores was.

The last attraction of our Christmas week was a ge