It faded soon into a gray fog, with puffs of wind from the southwest again.
Gray Peter had been fresher than Sally at the end of the run of the day before.
Then I come on a slab of gray stone upstanding about fifteen feet.
"You are in splendid condition, Elfreda," praised Mrs. Gray.
Thank goodness and Mrs. Gray, there are no carpets to be laid.
"We'll let the men wrestle with the unpacking, girls," decided Mrs. Gray.
"I think I'll wait for you on the veranda, children," said Mrs. Gray.
Grace's face was alight with appreciation of Mrs. Gray's gift.
All in all, Gray Peter was a glorious machine; Sally was a tricky intelligence.
Gray Peter's heart was never in doubt, but what would Sally's courage be in a pinch?