"How beautiful it will be; the big, broad lake out there in the main valley, and then the nice, little, secluded, twisty waterway back in through here; a regular lover's lane of a waterway, as it were.
I don't suppose these springs have any names.

They must be named, and--why, we haven't even named the lake!" "Yes, we have," he quickly returned.

"I'm going to call it Lake Josephine." "You haven't asked my permission for that," she objected with mock severity.
"There are plenty of Josephines in the world," he calmly observed.
"Nobody has a copyright on the name, you know." She smiled, as one sure of her ground.
"Yes, but you wouldn't call it that, if I were to object seriously." "No, I guess I wouldn't," he gave up; "but you're not going to object seriously, are you ?" "I'll think it over," she said.
They were now making their way along a bank that was too difficult of travel to allow much conversation, though it did allow some delicious helping, but when they came out into the main valley where they could again look down on the road, they paused to survey the course over which they had just come, and to appreciate to the full the beauty of Sam's plan.
"I don't believe I quite like your idea of the hotel built down there at the roadside," she objected as they sat on a huge boulder to rest.
"It cuts off the view of the lake from passers-by, and I should think it would be the best advertisement you could have for everybody who drove past there to say: 'Oh, what a pretty place!' Now I should think that right about here where we are sitting would be the proper location for your hotel.

Just think how the lake and the building would look from the road.

Right here would be a broad porch jutting out over the water, giving a view down that first bend of the kite tail, and back of the hotel would be this big hill and all the trees, and hills and trees would spread out each side of it, sort of open armed, as it were, welcoming people in." "It couldn't be seen, though," objected Sam.