Formerly lessons never bothered the small Puerto Rican, or indeed any other Puerto Rican child. He played "hookey" all day long, and no truant officer disturbed him, or dragged him off to school.
He never saw a schoolhouse or the inside of a schoolroom. He never saw a book. But, for that matter, neither did his father or mother. They can neither read nor write; nor can many of their neighbors.
The Puerto Rican city child often lives in a crowded basement, with many brothers and sisters. The child of poor parents in the cities is not usually very clean; but then he has very few opportunities for bathing, and his only playground is the courtyard and the streets.
His little country cousins, who live where pools and streams are found, spend much of their time in the water. They find it pleasanter to paddle in cool streams, beneath overhanging tree ferns and banana trees, than to roll in the dirt.
They object, however, to wearing clothes, and are allowed to go without any until they are ten or twelve years of age. Even at this age they shed briny tears when compelled to put on one cotton garment.
These little country children learn to be helpful at a very early age. They fish and catch crabs; weed the garden; dig potatoes; gather fruit, vegetables and coffee; and do errands.
But they have one bugaboo, and that is the wild dog. This animal is very fierce. It sometimes leaves its hiding place in the forest, with a pack of companions, and carries off sheep, pigs, and calves.
If very hungry, it may attack a child; and so the children keep a sharp lookout for it.
Children in Puerto Rico sleep on the floor or in a hammock, and they eat whenever or wherever they can find fruit or vegetables within their reach. Sometimes they smoke, too.
They have no toys, no books, no pictures, no fine clothes or homes; yet, for all that, they are cheerful and contented. They have little, but they seem to want little.