superior intelligence of our little brothers of the animal world.

But the Squamish tribe hold other ideas. It was on a February
day that I first listened to this beautiful, humane story of the
Deluge. My royal old tillicum had come to see me through the rains
and mists of late winter days. The gateways of my wigwam always
stood open--very widely open--for his feet to enter, and this
especial day he came with the worst downpour of the season.

Woman-like, I protested with a thousand contradictions in my voice,
that he should venture out to see me on such a day. It was "Oh!
Chief, I am so glad to see you!" and it was "Oh! Chief, why didn't
you stay at home on such a wet day--your poor throat will suffer."
But I soon had quantities of hot tea for him, and the huge cup my
own father always used was his--as long as the Sagalie Tyee allowed
his dear feet to wander my way. The immense cup stands idle and
empty now for the second time.

Helping him off with his great-coat, I chatted on about the deluge
of rain, and he remarked it was not so very bad, as one could yet
walk.

"Fortunately, yes, for I cannot swim," I told him.

He laughed, replying, "Well, it is not so bad as when the Great Deep
Waters covered the world."

Immediately I foresaw the coming legend, so crept into the shell of
monosyllables.