Many years passed and Harisaboqued did not come back. All wondered why he did not return and at last decided that he would never do so. The whole mountain side was covered with tobacco and many of the people looked with greedy eyes at the bare ground above the line, but as yet they were afraid to break their promise. At last one man planted in the forbidden ground, and, as nothing happened, others did the same, until soon the mountain was entirely covered with the waving plants. The people were very happy and soon forgot about Harisaboqued and their promise to him. But one day, while they were laughing and singing, the earth suddenly opened and Harisaboqued sprang out before them. They were very much frightened and fled in terror down the mountain side. When they reached the foot and looked back they saw a terrible sight. All the tobacco had disappeared and, instead of the thousands of plants that they had tended so carefully, nothing but the bare mountain could be seen. Then suddenly there was a fearful noise and the whole mountain top flew high in the air, leaving an immense hole from which poured fire and smoke. The people fled and did not stop until they were far away. Harisaboqued had kept his word. Many years have come and gone, but the mountain is bare and the smoke still rolls out of the mountain top. Villages have sprung up along the sides, but no tobacco is grown on the mountain. The people remember the tales of the former great crops and turn longing eyes to the heights above them, but they will have to wait. Harisaboqued is still smoking his tobacco. The Pericos Throughout the Visayan islands almost every family owns a pericos, kept as American children keep canary birds. The pericos is about the size and color of a Crow, but has a hard white hood that entirely covers its head. The people teach it but one phrase, which it repeats continually, parrot fashion. The words are, "Comusta pari? Pericos tao." (How are you, father? Parrot-man.) "Pari" means padre or priest. The people address the pericos as "pari" because its white head, devoid of feathers, seems to resemble the shaven crowns of the friars and native priests. I In his small wooden box That hangs on the wall Sits a queer-looking bird That in words sounds his call. From daybreak to twilight His cry he repeats, Resting only whenever He drinks or he eats. He never grows weary,-- Hear! There he goes now! "Comusta pari? Pericos tao." II And all the day long You can hear this strange cry: "How are you, father? A parrot-man I." He sits on his perch, In his little white cap, And pecks at your hand If the cage door you tap. Now give him some seeds, Hear him say with a bow, "Comusta pari? Pericos tao." III Poor little birdie! How hard it must be To sit there in prison And never be free! I'll give you a mango, And teach you to say "Thank you," and "Yes, sir," And also "Good day." You'll find English as easy As what you say now, "Comusta pari? Pericos tao." IV