Fil’s father took up this part of the story, and said:
“Sugar of course comes from a sweet cane, which is grown on high land. The cane is cut down. A pony or a water buffalo is harnessed to a roller. We feed the ripened cane into the rollers. As the animal drives this roller around, the sugar cane is pressed through. The sweet juice is caught and put into kettles. This juice is heated several times, and stirred, and purified by bone charcoal. The white crystals separate from the dark molasses sirup. We sometimes feed the molasses to cattle and pigs, to make them fat for market.”
Fil’s eyes looked very longingly as he listened to this tale of good things; so I passed him a penny or two.
“Is not sugar made also from very sweet, dark beets?” I inquired.
“Not in these islands,” replied the Padre. “We find that the sugar cane gives a sweeter and a more nutritious product. The beet sugar is made in Europe and in the western states of America.”
“What do you do with the pressed sugar cane?” I inquired.
“We spread it out in the sun and dry it in large yards. It still contains much sugar. We use it for fuel, to light the fires under the kettles.”
“What a waste!” I exclaimed. “You should use oil or gas for fuel, and should press every drop of sugar out of that valuable cane. Waste not; want not, is as good a maxim for a nation as for a boy.”
“If you are always that serious, like a lecturer, the children may not like you so well,” remarked the gentle Padre.
“Not at all,” replied Fil and Moro and Filippa and Favra, who perhaps remembered the pennies I had given to them. Then I hummed as we went home to have lunch, or “tiffin,” as they call it: