“Then, with the bravest hearts that ever beat, noble hands lifted every child of the tribe into this vast canoe; not one single baby was overlooked.  The canoe was stocked with food and fresh water, and lastly, the ancient men and women of the race selected as guardians to these children the bravest, most stalwart, handsomest young man of the tribes, and the mother of the youngest baby in the camp—­she was but a girl of sixteen, her child but two weeks old; but she, too, was brave and very beautiful.  These two were placed, she at the bow of the canoe to watch, he at the stern to guide, and all the little children crowded between.

“And still the sea crept up, and up, and up.  At the crest of the bluffs about Lake Beautiful the doomed tribes crowded.  Not a single person attempted to enter the canoe.  There was no wailing, no crying out for safety.  ’Let the little children, the young mother, and the bravest and best of our young men live,’ was all the farewell those in the canoe heard as the waters reached the summit, and—­the canoe floated.  Last of all to be seen was the top of the tallest tree, then—­all was a world of water.

“For days and days there was no land—­just the rush of swirling, snarling sea; but the canoe rode safely at anchor, the cable those scores of dead, faithful women had made held true as the hearts that beat behind the toil and labor of it all.

“But one morning at sunrise, far to the south, a speck floated on the breast of the waters; at midday it was larger; at evening it was yet larger.  The moon arose, and in its magic light the man at the stern saw it was a patch of land.  All night he watched it grow, and at daybreak looked with glad eyes upon the summit of Mount Baker.  He cut the cable, grasped his paddle in his strong, young hands, and steered for the south.  When they landed, the waters were sunken half down the mountain-side.  The children were lifted out; the beautiful young mother, the stalwart young brave, turned to each other, clasped hands, looked into each other’s eyes—­and smiled.

“And down in the vast country that lies between Mount Baker and the Fraser River they made a new camp, built new lodges, where the little children grew and thrived, and lived and loved, and the earth was repeopled by them.

“The Squamish say that in a gigantic crevice half-way to the crest of Mount Baker may yet be seen the outlines of an enormous canoe, but I have never seen it myself.”

He ceased speaking with that far-off cadence in his voice with which he always ended a legend, and for a long time we both sat in silence listening to the rains that were still beating against the window.

THE SEA-SERPENT