“Respect for parents and poor relations,” I answered. “Fil and Filippa kiss your hand and bow, morning and night. You, though a father and mother, are also as dutiful as children. You keep grandfather and grandmother, and poor old relations around the home, where they can always have a place to sleep, a kind hand near, and can get a bite to eat anyway, and a tear of sympathy over their sick bed, at the last.”
“By our religion, and by the warmth of our own hearts, we Filipinos believe it to be a cruel sin to send our parents and relatives to asylums. God gave us to them at the beginning of life, and God gives them to us at the end of life,” replied Fil’s pious mother.
“What a very, very beautiful saying, and what a beautiful deed!” I said.
Fil’s grandmother was sitting in a corner of the room. I could see a tear of joy stealing down her sweet old face.
We all now rose; saluted each other; and, as we retired for the night, we each said “Adios” (a dē ōs′), which means “good night” or “good-by,” or really, “To God we commend you.”
Chapter XVIII
Dress
The next morning the washwoman was bringing in the clothes. Knowing that I was a stranger, and would like to bring a true story home to American boys and girls, Fil’s mother asked me: “Would you like to learn the names and kinds of our garments? You will notice that they are very different from yours.”