ie and go to the Happy
Hunting Grounds of my fathers. Let not my strength die with me. Keep
living for all time my courage, my bravery, my fearlessness. Keep them
for my people that they may be strong enough to endure the white man's
rule. Keep my strength living for them; hide it so that the Paleface
may never find or see it.'

"Then he came down from the summit of Grouse Mountain. Still chanting
his medicine songs he entered his canoe, and paddled through the colors
of the setting sun far up the North Arm. When night fell he came to an
island with misty shores of great grey rock; on its summit tall pines
and firs circled like a king's crown. As he neared it he felt all his
strength, his courage, his fearlessness, leaving him; he could see
these things drift from him on to the island. They were as the clouds
that rest on the mountains, grey-white and half transparent. Weak as a
woman he paddled back to the Indian village; he told them to go and
search for 'The Island,' where they would find all his courage, his
fearlessness and his strength, living, living forever. He slept then,
but--in the morning he did not awake. Since then our young men and our
old have searched for 'The Island.' It is there somewhere, up some
lost channel, but we cannot find it. When we do, we will get back all
the courage and bravery we had before the white man came, for the great
medicine man said those things never die--they live for one's children
and grandchildren."

His voice ceased. My whole heart went out to him in his longing for
the lost island. I thought of all the splendid courage I knew him to
possess, so made answer: "But you say that the shadow of this island
has fallen upon you; is it not so, tillicum?"

"Yes," he said half mournfully. "But only the shadow."

[Illustration: Native cradle?]

Point Grey

"Have you ever sailed around Point Grey?" asked a young Squamish
tillicum of mine who often comes to see me, to share a cup of tea and a
taste of muck-a-muck, that otherwise I should eat in solitude.

"No," I admitted, I had not had that pleasure, for I did not know the
uncertain waters of English Bay sufficiently well to venture about its
headlands in my frail canoe.

"Some day, perhaps next summer, I'll take you there in a sail-boat, and
show you the big rock at the southwest of the Point. It is a strange
rock; we Indian people call it Homolsom."

"What an odd name," I commented. "Is it a Squam