"Oh, Peter!" cried Mrs. Crane, dropping her end of the heaviest hamper. "How much of it is ours?"
"Every scrap. All that you can see."
"What! Down to that rocky point?"
"Yes, and up the other way to that other rocky point—a whole mile of shore line."
"And the island off that little projection—is that ours?"
"Every inch of it."
"Why, Peter!"
"Fine, isn't it? We own a river, too—there's the mouth of it down the shore. What do you think of it all, Sarah?"
"Peter, it's—it's heaven!"