An older brother of the two lads, John B. Denny, was just emerging from the north door of the big barn with two pails of milk; hearing, as he thought, the words "I'm drowning," rather faintly from the lake, he dropped the pails unceremoniously and ran down to the shore swiftly, found only an old shovel-nosed canoe and no paddle, seized a picket and paddled across the little bay to where the water appeared agitated; there he found the boys struggling in the water, or rather one of them, the other was already unconscious. Arriving at the same time in their boat Charley Nollop and Joe Raber helped to pull them out of the water. The long golden curls of the younger were entangled in the crossed cords of the shot pouch and powder flask worn by the older one, who was about to sink for the last time, as he was exhausted and had let go of the younger, who was submerged. Their mother reached the shore as the unconscious one was stretched upon the ground and raised his arms and felt for the heart which was beating feebly. The swimmer walked up the hill to the house; the younger, still unconscious, was carried, face downward, into a room where a large fire was burning in an open fireplace, and laid down before it on a rug. Restoratives were quickly applied and upon partial recovery he was warmly tucked in bed. A few feverish days followed, yet both escaped without serious injury. Mrs. Tsetseguis was much grieved and repeated over and over, "I told the Oleman not to lend that little canoe to the boys, and he said, 'O it's all right, they know how to manage a canoe.'" Tsetseguis was also much distressed and showed genuine sympathy, following the rescued into the house to see if they were really safe. The games we played in early days were often the time-honored ones taught us by our parents, and again were inventions of our own. During the Rebellion we drilled as soldiers or played "black man;" by the latter we wrought excitement to the highest pitch, whether we chased the black man, or returning the favor, he chased us. The teeter-board was available when the neighbor's children came; the wonder is that no bones were broken by our method. The longest, strongest, Douglas fir board that could be found, was placed across a large log, a huge stone rested in the middle and the children, boys and girls, little and big, crowded on the board almost filling it; then we carefully "waggled" it up and down, watching the stone in breathless and ecstatic silence until weary of it. Our bravado consisted in climbing up the steepest banks on the bay, or walking long logs across ravines or on steep inclines. The surroundings were so peculiar that old games took on new charms when played on Puget Sound. Hide-and-seek in a dense jungle of young Douglas firs was most delightful; the great fir and cedar trees, logs and stumps, afforded ample cover for any number of players, from the sharp eyes of the one who had been counted "out" with one of the old rhymes.