s 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.

"No?" I questioned.

"No," he replied. "For, one time, there was no land here at all;
everywhere there was just water."

"I can quite believe it," I remarked caustically.

He laughed--that irresistible, though silent, David Warfield laugh
of his that always brought a responsive smile from his listeners.
Then he plunged directly into the tradition, with no preface save a
comprehensive sweep of his wonderful hands towards my wide window,
against which the rains were beating.

"It was after a long, long time of this--this rain. The mountain
streams were swollen, the rivers choked, the sea began to rise--and
yet it rained; for weeks and weeks it rained." He ceased speaking,
while the shadows of centuries gone crept into his eyes. Tales of
the misty past always inspired him.

"Yes," he continued. "It rained for weeks and weeks, while the
mountain torrents roared thunderingly down, and the sea crept
silently up. The level lands were first to float in sea-water, then
to disappear. The slopes were next to slip into the sea. The world
was slowly being flooded. Hurriedly the Indian tribes gathered in
one spot, a place of safety far above the reach of the on-creeping
sea. The spot was the circling shore of Lake Beautiful, up the
North Arm. They held a Great Council a