At Round Head, the big rock at the farther end of the beach, they sat down in the sunlight for awhile and allowed Roy to puzzle over his map. Then they followed the little well-worn path which skirts the shore under the trees past Turtle Cove, Turtle Point, and Round Harbor. This brought them to the upper end of the island where it terminates in a rocky point that breasts the water like the prow of a battle-ship. Roy originated the simile, and Chub remarked that it wasn’t the bow of a ship but the stern, and that the two little islets lying beyond were the battle-ship’s tenders in tow. “We’re getting quite--quite poetical,” said Dick. “What’s the name of this point, Roy?” Roy shook his head and looked questioningly at Chub. “Don’t believe it has any name,” said the latter. “We’ve always called it just ‘the other end,’ or something like that.” “Oh, let’s name it!” cried Harry. “Point Torohadik,” Roy suggested. “Point Harriet,” Chub corrected. Harry clapped her hands. “Couldn’t we call it that?” she asked eagerly. “That’s its name henceforth,” replied Chub solemnly. “And we ought really to change the names of those islands there to Snip and Methuselah!” “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” laughed Roy. “They’ve been called Treasure Island and Far Island for years.” “I tell you, though,” cried Chub. “The Grapes haven’t been named. There are eight of them. We’ll name those!” They hurried past the point to where a cluster of tiny islets, the largest scarcely bigger than a barn door, lay just off the shore. A few of them held turf and bushes, but most were just barren lumps of rock and sand. “Now,” said Chub, “the largest we will name Snip Island, the next largest Methuselah, the next Spot, the next--” “Lady Gray!” prompted Harry. “Lady Gray. Then comes--are there any more cats or kittens, Harry?” “There’s Joe,” said Harry, somewhat reproachfully. “Oh, yes, of course. Well, that’s Joe Island over there, the three-cornered one. Now what?” “Well, there are the black rabbits,” Harry suggested. “Just the thing!” said Roy. “There are three of them and there are just three islands left. I name thee--” “Say, who’s officiating at this christening, anyhow?” asked Chub. “You run away and play, Mr. Porter. Now, the next island to Joe is Pete, the next Repeat, and the last one Threepete.” “Referred to in the geographies as the Rabbit Group,” added Dick. “And now, if the ceremony is completed, we will move on to the next exhibit.” They ran up the little slope of Hood’s Hill, where the three boys had awaited the boat-race, and then, like a celebrated army, ran down again. That brought them to Outer Beach, and they followed the edge of the water to Gull Point and from there on to Lookout, a small promontory dividing Outer Beach proper from the smaller crescent of sand known as Victory Cove. Then they were home again. “Let’s see your old map,” said Chub, and when it was exhibited he laughed uproariously.