Chief Mowitch and all his family were invited, and great rejoicing and anticipation were enjoyed over their salmon suppers that night.
"You and the boys go," said his wife. "Perhaps you will be lucky and bring home chicamin and blankets. The old men say the winter will be cold. Grey geese were going south yesterday, three weeks earlier than last year. Yes, we will need blankets when the ollalies (berries) are ripe in October. I shall stay at home, until the babies are older. Yes, you and the boys go."
"Yes," responded the chief. "It would never do for us to miss a great
Squamish Potlatch. We must go."
Then the elder son, Chet-woot, spoke joyously:
"And, mama,* we may bring back great riches, and even if the cold does come while we are away, our little brother, Ta-la-pus, will care for you and the babies. He'll carry water and bring all the wood for your warmth."
[*The Chinook for father and mother is "papa" and "mama", adopted from the English language.]
The father looked smilingly at Ta-la-pus, but the boy's eyes, great and dark, and hungry for the far mainland, for the great feasts he had heard so much of, were fastened in begging, pleading seriousness on his father's face. Suddenly a whim seized the old chief's fancy.
"Ta-la-pus," he said, "you look as if you would like to go, too. Do you want to take part in the Potlatch?"
Instantly Chet-woot objected. "Papa, he could never go, he's too young. They may ask him to dance for them. He can't dance. Then perhaps they would never ask us."
The chief scowled. He was ruler in his own lodge, and allowed no interference from anyone.