Chapter XV
Saw Mill; Mud Sleighs; Wooden Plows
“At what are you going to earn your living when you grow up, Fil?” asked the Padre, who was his teacher, when we all met again under the whispering bamboos next morning.
Fil thought a minute, pursed his chest out like a pouter pigeon, and replied to the great admiration of Filippa, who was a very loyal sister:
“I shall be a Senator, or President.”
“Come down from the clouds, Master Fil,” replied his father; “stop dreaming and say something practical. There can be only one President and only a few score Senators. So if every one had your aims, millions would starve. Yet millions are working happily, and earning wages which buy them what they need, if their ideas are not too selfish. They do not need to bow to wretched, cringing politics.”
“At what do they work?” eagerly inquired Fil.
“Come and see,” said Fil’s father and the Padre together. We all followed.