child has invisible ears; perhaps the child-ears hear him call.
Let them go.' So the little children went forth into the forest;
their young feet flew as though shod with wings, their young hearts
pointed to the north as does the white man's compass. Day after day
they journeyed up-stream, until, rounding a sudden bend, they beheld
a bark lodge with a thin blue curl of smoke drifting from its roof.

"'It is our father's lodge,' they told each other, for their
childish hearts were unerring in response to the call of kinship.
Hand in hand they approached, and entering the lodge, said the
one word, 'Come.'

"The great Squamish chief outstretched his arms towards them, then
towards the laughing river, then towards the mountains.

"'Welcome, my sons!' he said. 'And good-bye, my mountains, my
brothers, my crags, and my canyons!' And with a child clinging to
each hand he faced once more the country of the tidewater."

* * * * *

The legend was ended.

For a long time he sat in silence. He had removed his gaze from the
bend in the river, around which the two children had come and where
the eyes of the recluse had first rested on them after ten years of
solitude.

The chief spoke again: "It was here, on this spot we are sitting,
that he built his lodge: here he dwelt those ten years alone,