"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.