It was to this home that John and Sarah Denny, and their little daughter, Loretta, came to visit their son, daughter and the grandchildren, in the winter of 1857-8. Grandmother was tall and straight, dressed in a plain, dark gown, black silk apron and lace cap; her hair, coal black, slightly gray on the temples; her eyes dark, soft and gentle. She brought a little treat of Oregon apples from their farm in the Waldo Hills, to the children, who thought them the most wonderful fruit they had ever seen, more desirable than the golden apples of Hesperides. We were to return with them, joyful news! What visions of bliss arose before us! new places to see and all the nice things and good times we children could have at grandfather's farm. When the day came, in the long, dark canoe, manned by a crew of Indians, we embarked for Olympia, the head of navigation, bidding "good-bye" to our friends, few but precious, who watched us from the bank, among whom were an old man and his little daughter. A few days before he had been sick and one of the party sent him a steaming cup of ginger and milk which, although simple, had proved efficacious; ere we reached our home again he showed his gratitude in a substantial manner, as will be seen farther on. At one beautiful resting place, the canoe slid up against a strip of shingle covered with delicate shells; we were delighted to be allowed to walk about, after sitting curled up in the bottom of the canoe for a long time, to gather crab, pecten and periwinkle shells, even extending our ramble to a lovely grove of dark young evergreens, standing in a grassy meadow. The first night of the journey was spent in Steilacoom. It was March of 1858 and it was chilly traveling on the big salt water. We were cold and hungry but the keeper of the one hotel in the place had retired and refused to be aroused, so we turned to the only store, where the proprietor received us kindly, brought out new blankets to cover us while we camped on the floor, gave us bread and a hot oyster stew, the best his place afforded. His generous hospitality was never forgotten by the grateful recipients who often spoke of it in after years. I saw there a "witches' scene" of an old Indian woman boiling devilfish or octopus in a kettle over a campfire, splendidly lit against the gloom of night, and all reflected in the water. At the break of day we paddled away over the remainder of the salt-chuck, as the Indians call the sea, until Stetchas was reached. Stetchas is "bear's place," the Indian name for the site of Olympia. From thence the mail stage awaited us to Cowlitz Landing. The trip over this stretch of country was not exactly like a triumphal progress. The six-horse team plunged and floundered, while the wagon sank up to the hub in black mud; the language of the driver has not been recorded.