"Perhaps," offered Henrietta, "'The Crane's Cove' would sound safer."
"That doesn't work right," protested Marjory, wiggling her small pink tongue comically. "I'd always be saying 'Crane's Crove.'"
"Besides," said Jean, "that isn't romantic enough. We want something like 'Lover's Leap,' or 'Breezy Bluff,' or 'River's Rest.'"
Just then Dave approached with an offering for Jean—he had already given her his best willow whistle and a partridge wing. This time it was a fine speckled trout, bigger than any that Mr. Black had been able to hook.
"Where'd you catch him?" asked Mr. Black.
Dave shrugged his shoulders and replied evasively: "Pretty goo' fishin' groun' here at 'Pete's Patch.'"
"Where's Pete's Patch?" demanded Mr. Black, suspiciously.
"Right here," replied Dave, with a gesture that included Mr. Black's entire property. "He name after you—Ah name heem maself."
"That's nerve for you," breathed Henrietta.
"Pete's Patch!" murmured Mr. Black, who seemed decidedly taken aback. "Pete's Patch!"