“You can throw these chairs about. They never break, because they give way a little, like a spring. They are elastic, yet strong,” explained Fil’s father.
“And they cost only a few cents,” added the Padre.
“We don’t care when they burn up,” remarked Fil, who received from his father a stern look, and the order not to joke too much.
As we walked home, we passed a man who carried a bamboo over one shoulder. At one end of the pole hung a thick piece of hollow bamboo. At the other end of the pole hung an earthenware jug, tied in a net of rattan. Behind him followed a herd of goats.
“Fresh milk and bottled milk for children,” he cried.
“What is he, a curio seller?” I asked.
“No, a milkman,” answered Fil. “The bamboo jug is a pint measure. The earthen bottle holds the milk. And if you want fresh, warm milk for the baby, he will milk it here from one of his nibbling goats, right into the bamboo jug.”
“Always fresh milk!” shouted the vendor, as with his fingers, he made a snapping sound to call his herd of goats.
“Really, a walking dairy,” I remarked.
