“Quite true,” admitted Robert Rennie. “It was only yesterday that one of our public-spirited citizens suggested the name ‘Lions’ Gate’.”
“Oh, Dad, that would be lovely!” exclaimed Janet, her eyes shining. “The ‘Lions’ Gate,’ with the two watchful Lions looking down on all who enter. The name is most fitting.”
“Yes,” concurred Douglas, “Canada being one of the Lion’s whelps, what more appropriate name than ‘Lions’ Gate,’ the western gateway to the British Empire?”
“The Creator was wonderfully kind to us in His allotment of mountains,” said Janet’s father; “mountains that are not only valuable for their scenic beauty, but for their mineral-filled rocks and forest-clad sides. Our bays, inlets and streams are filled with fish, and our climate is so mild on the Coast that man can live in comfort amid congenial surroundings the year round.
“Here we have the last of the Great West,” continued Mr. Rennie. “With nearly four hundred thousand miles of territory, a coast line seven thousand miles in length, our population for the entire Province is less than one of the Coast cities to the south of us. Here in this vast untouched hinterland,” swinging his arm to the north and east, “lies a potential wealth that will support millions, a wealth that is awaiting the magic touch of capital and settlers—capital to provide railways; farmers to till the rich valley; miners to unlock the vast hoards of gold and copper; and loggers to fell the virgin forests. Some day—and that day is not far distant—all this will come to pass, and you young folks will see a railroad from Vancouver to the Behring Sea.” The speaker’s face was flushed and his eyes were glowing. “Who knows,” he finished dreamily, “but what the railroad I am building will be a link in the Alaskan road of the future?”
“Here is a family,” thought Donald, “all native-born, who have a deep and abiding faith in the destiny of the land of their birth.”
Addressing Mr. Rennie, he said: “If the love that you and yours have for this Province is typical of the average citizen, I see no need to fear for the future of your country.”
“Thank you,” the older man replied gravely. “Our population is made up of people from all parts of the world, as our native-born are few. A cosmopolite is more or less indifferent to the future of the country in which he resides. ‘Get the money’ is unfortunately the slogan of many of our business men, who make no attempt to build for the future. Until such time as there is ingrained in the hearts of our citizens a true love for our Province; until such time as our cities and towns forget petty bickerings and jealousies and work together and harmoniously, then—and only then—will British Columbia become what Nature intended, the crowning jewel of the British Empire.”
Janet’s guests arrived in groups of two and three until about twenty of Vancouver’s younger set were scattered about the large rooms. In introducing Donald to her friends Janet felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she saw the many glances of keen interest directed toward her stranger guest.
A slender girl with elaborately coiffed golden hair, looking like a white butterfly, fluttered to Janet’s side and shook a reproving finger in her face. “ ’Fess up now, Janet,” she pouted; “how long have you been hiding this handsome man? Who is this Prince Charming?”