"We Iroquois say that twin children are as rabbits," I explained.
"The nation always nicknames the parents. 'Tow-wan-da-na-ga.'
That is the Mohawk for rabbit."

"Is that all?" he asked curiously.

"That is all. Is it not enough to render twin children unwelcome?"
I questioned.

He thought a while, then, with evident desire to learn how all races
regarded this occurrence, he said, "You have been much among the
Palefaces, what do they say of twins?"

"Oh! the Palefaces like them. They are--they are--oh! well, they
say they are very proud of having twins," I stammered. Once again I
was hardly sure of my ground. He looked most incredulous, and I was
led to enquire what his own people of the Squamish thought of this
discussed problem.

"It is no pride to us," he said decidedly, "nor yet is it disgrace
of rabbits; but it is a fearsome thing--a sign of coming evil to the
father, and, worse than that, of coming disaster to the tribe."

Then I knew he held in his heart some strange incident that
gave substance to the superstition. "Won't you tell it to me?"
I begged.

He leaned a little backward against a giant boulder, clasping his
thin, brown hands about his knees; his eyes roved up the galloping
river, then swept down the singing waters to where they crowded past
the sudden bend, and during the entire recital of the strange legend
his eyes never left that spot where the stream disappeared in its
hurrying journey to the sea. Without preamble he began:

"It was a grey morning when they told him of this disaster that had
befallen him. He was a great chief, and he ruled many tribes on the
North Pacific Coast; but what was his greatness now? His young wife
had borne him twins, and was sobbing out her anguish in the little
fir-bark lodge near the tidewater.

"Beyond the doorway gathered many old men and women--old in years,
old in wisdom, old in the lore and learning of their nations. Some
of them wept, some chanted solemnly the dirge of their lost hopes
and happiness, which would never return because of this calamity;
others discussed in hushed voices this awesome thing, and for hours
their grave council was broken only by the infant cries of the two
boy-babies in the bark lodge, the hopeless sobs of the young mother,
the agonized moans of the stricken chief--their father.

"'Something dire will happen to the tribe,' said the old men in
council.

"'Something dire will happen to him, my husband,' wept t