“What can its strange name mean?” I inquired; for I seemed to have no acquaintance with nature at all, in this wonderfully different land.
The Padre, who knew many languages, explained: “It is a Malay word which means, ‘The chief flower of all flowers’; and such I think it really is. We capture the fragrance by distilling the flowers, and mixing pure alcohol with the essence.”
“If you were ill in the forest, and caught fever from the mosquitoes and ants that stung you, the bark of this tree would cure you, just as quinine does,” continued the Padre.
“Is it the little quinine, or cinchona, tree?” I inquired.
“No, it is a sister tree. We call it ‘Dita’ in our language.”
“I said our forests would house and feed you. Now I’ll show you how they would also clothe you. Please show me your handkerchief, Filippa,” said the Padre.
Filippa handed him a little square of linen cloth, so thin and watery in color, or absence of color, that I could look through it.
“In your country, that little handkerchief would be worth twenty-five dollars. It is woven from the very thin fibers drawn from pineapple leaves, and is called Pina cloth, or Pina linen.”
Filippa’s mother added: “It is finer than silk or hemp linen. We make our best shiny gowns and laces out of it. Because it is so fine, it takes a long time to get enough threads to weave and work it together. The time spent in making it, explains its great cost.”
“I see now why Filippa is promised a Pina gown for our coming feast, or fiesta day, that you kindly promise to give in my honor before I go away. It certainly is a cloth fit for a queen,” I replied.