“It’s really worth coming for,” she said.
“And how she hates to admit it,” Val whispered in Joe’s ear, for the whole party was now gathered together on the edge, looking at the prospect.
“What’s the name of that heavenly little lake?” Lucy asked.
“Lake Ellen Wilson,” Mills answered.
“Oh, dear, it shouldn’t be—it ought to have a beautiful Indian name, like Eye-of-the-morning, or something,” said she.
“Let’s name it Lake Lucy Elkins,” Bob suggested. “Seems to suit you.”
Joe thought so, too, but he did not say anything.
Lucy laughed. “If we only could rename it,” she answered, “I certainly would find a pretty Indian name. I think it’s terrible, the way we take the land away from the Indians first, and then give everything new names, in the bargain.”
The trail now descended in switchbacks to the very shore of the lake, for, although it had to climb up again at the lower, west side, the precipices were so steep in between that the only way to get from one point to the other was to descend to the shore.
“And this water is really going to the Pacific Ocean,” said Mr. Jones, as they reached the lake. “We are over the Great Divide, Bob!”