ded and insisted, and finally
almost frightened the little wife into going with her and sharing her
house, which was near by, but out of danger from the smallpox. God bless
those earlier pioneers! They were all good to us, sometimes to the point
of embarrassment, in their generous hospitality.

Oliver was to have had the cabin ready by the time I returned. He not
only had not done that, but had taken the boat and had left no sign to
tell us where either brother or boat could be found. Not knowing what
else to do, I paddled over to the town of Steilacoom. There I found out
where the boat and the provisions had been left, and after an earnest
parley succeeded in getting possession. With my canoe in tow I soon made
my way back to where my little flock was, and speedily transferred all
to the spot that was to be our island dwelling. We set up our tent, and
felt at home once more.

[Illustration: Crows breaking clams by dropping them on boulders.]

Steilacoom, three miles across the bay, had grown during my absence, and
in the distance it looked like a city in fact as well as in name. Mt.
Rainier looked bigger and taller than ever. Even the songs of the
Indians sounded better; the canoes looked more graceful, and the paddles
seemed to be wielded more expertly. Everything looked cheerful;
everything interested us, especially the crows, with their trick of
breaking clams by rising in the air and dropping them on the boulders.
There were so many new things to observe that for a time we almost
forgot that we were nearly out of provisions and money and did not know
what had happened to Oliver.

Next morning Oliver returned to the village. Finding that the boat and
provisions had been taken and seeing smoke in the bight, he surmised
what had happened and came paddling across to the tent. He had received
a tempting offer to help load a ship and had just completed his
contract. As a result of this work, he was able to exhibit a slug of
California gold and other money that looked precious indeed in our eyes.

The building of our second cabin with its stone fireplace, cat-and-clay
chimney, lumber floor, real window with glass in it, together with the
high-post bedstead made out of tapering cedar saplings, the table
fastened to the wall, the rustic chairs, seemed but like a play spell.
No eight-hour day there--eighteen would be nearer the mark; we never
tired.

It was in this same year, 1853, that Congress cut off from Oregon the