with several waists. The little trunk I had bought in Fort Benton was filled with Hugh's toys and books, and we carried it with us wherever we could.

Fannie and Mr. Morgan had invested in some property at Lake Stevens, and on Sunday they drove over to see it. My little boy and I did not go with them as we were tired. When they returned, they talked a long time about the beauties of Lake Stevens, and of Mr. Illman's beautiful ranch, and of his wonderful collie dogs, fine chickens, etc.

Little did we think at that moment of what a safe harbor Mr. Illman's ranch would be to us within a few hours. The next day Frances and her husband were called by telegram to Seattle to see about some property they owned there. Now, my letters came under cover, and one coming that day from Mr. Gleason addressed to Fannie's husband, I opened it. Inside was a telegram addressed to Mr. Gleason: 'Havre, Montana-Tell Mrs. Brown, Peeke is on his way to Seattle. Very serious. Tell her to be careful."

66

CHAPTER VII.

FLIGHT TO LAKE STEVENS-FINDS POSTER THERE-ANOTHER FLIGHT FOLLOWS.

With my friends in Seattle and no one to advise me, I felt utterly lost when the telegram came. Mr. Peeke was now in Seattle, 50 miles away. Something guided me, some unseen mind and hand, for without anything to bring it to my mind, came the thought of Lake Stevens and Mr. Illman's ranch. Fannie's brother-inlaw, Mr. Wilson, got horses and a carriage, and bundling up our few possessions, we got in and hurriedly drove over there. Just pine woods and shingle mills until we reached Hartford, the junction point where the Monte Christo Railway going up to the mines in the Cascade Mountains, and the Northern Pacific Railway running up to Sumas, met.

The Canadian Pacific Railway runs cars over this branch line, having through sleepers from Seattle to the East. After reaching the little hamlet of Hartford, with its one church and two stores, we soon came in sight of beautiful Lake Stevens, lying like a blue mirror, with its frame of snow-capped mountains surrounding it.

At the end of the lake nearest to Hartford, is a large shingle mill, and a model town owned by W. J. Rucker. Mr. Rucker started life in a log-cabin in southern Ohio, and now lives in the handsomest house in Everett, Wash., and is one of the richest men in the State of Washington.

Next to the Rucker Mill stands the Illman ranch. When you open Mr. Illman's gate you are greeted by a multitude of fine collie dogs, jumping, barking, all sizes and colors. The Illman home is a fine one, with a sightly tower overlooking the lake; the place is highly improved, Mr. Illman being one of the early settlers of Snohomish County. Mrs. Illman came to the door, and when she found I was a connection of Fannie Knapp Morgan's, she very kindly took us in to board. I told her my boy had had a bronchial cough ever since he had the whooping cough, and I wanted to have him in the country for a while. It was past the supper hour, and while Mrs. Illman was resetting the table for us, my boy and I sat in the livingroom in front of the big brick fireplace, in which was crackling a bit of a savory Washington cedar log. As a child will, my boy began looking at some pictures on the table, and presently he exclaimed, "Why, mamma, this is Miss Carrie's house." I said, "Oh, no! it cannot be." "Yes, it's Miss Carrie's house." Turning the photograph over, I saw written on the back, "Cousin Carrie Bosworth's home in Sandusky,