ame that I mentioned the reason it had been applied
to them, asking him if he recalled the Landseer Lions in Trafalgar
Square. Yes, he remembered those splendid sculptures, and his quick
eye saw the resemblance instantly. It appeared to please him, and his
fine face expressed the haunting memories of the far-away roar of Old
London. But the "call of the blood" was stronger, and presently he
referred to the Indian legend of those peaks--a legend that I have
reason to believe is absolutely unknown to thousands of Palefaces who
look upon "The Lions" daily, without the love for them that is in the
Indian heart; without knowledge of the secret of "The Two Sisters."
The legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint
broken English that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an Indian
tongue. His inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were
like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his
brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung. "Many
thousands of years ago," he began, "there were no twin peaks like
sentinels guarding the outposts of this sunset coast. They were placed
there long after the first creation, when the Sagalie Tyee moulded the
mountains, and patterned the mighty rivers where the salmon run,
because of His love for His Indian children, and His Wisdom for their
necessities. In those times there were many and mighty Indian tribes
along the Pacific--in the mountain ranges, at the shores and sources of
the great Fraser River. Indian law ruled the land. Indian customs
prevailed. Indian beliefs were regarded. Those were the legend-making
ages when great things occurred to make the traditions we repeat to our
children today. Perhaps the greatest of these traditions is the story
of 'The Two Sisters,' for they are known to us as 'The Chief's
Daughters,' and to them we owe the Great Peace in which we live, and
have lived for many countless moons. There is an ancient custom
amongst the Coast tribes that when our daughters step from childhood
into the great world of womanhood the occasion must be made one of
extreme rejoicing. The being who possesses the possibility of someday
mothering a man child, a warrior, a brave, receives much consideration
in most nations, but to us, the Sunset Tribes, she is honored above all
people. The parents usually give a great potlatch, and a feast that
lasts many days. The entire tribe and the surrounding trib