As they steered downstream, running the rapids, braving the
whirlpools, they chanted, in monotone:
"'We have a lost child
A beautiful lost child.
We love this lost child,
But the heart of the child
Calls the mother of the child.
Come and claim this lost child.'
"The music of the chant was most beautiful, but no music in the
world of the white man's Tyee could equal that which rang through
the heart of Be-be, the Indian mother-woman.
"Heart upon heart, lips upon lips, the Morning-child and the
mother caught each other in embrace. The strange tribe told of how
they had found the girl-child wandering fearfully in the forest,
crouching from the claws of eagles, shrinking from the horror of
wolves, but the mother with her regained treasure in her arms
begged them to cease their tales. 'I have gone through agonies
enough, oh, my friends,' she cried aloud. 'Let me rest from torture
now.' Then her people came and made a great feast and potlatch for
this strange Upper Lillooet tribe, and at the feast Be-be arose,
and, lifting the girl-child to her shoulder, she commanded silence
and spoke:
"'O Sagalie Tyee (God of all the earth), You have given back to me
my treasure; take my tears, my sobs, my happy laughter, my joy--take
the cobweb chains that bind my Morning-child and me--make them
sing to others, that they may know my gratitude.
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