Yonkers-on-Hudson and Manila:
World Book Company,
Text on page 82
THE IGOROTS AT HOME
Our weeks in Benguet flew along all too fast. There was always something to do or hear or see. When we were resting, we never grew tired of seeing the shining, white clouds slip across the mountainsides up from the warm, blue ocean not many miles away. The clouds made many wonderful shapes as they marched along. Sometimes they would steal down our own mountain and bury our whole camp in soft, silver mist.
At such times we could not see the nearest trees, and it would seem as if the silent cloud had lifted us
right off the earth. Then I would say: aWeare up