TOM GRAY The company which met around the breakfast table, next morning, was entirely restored to its old gayety.

There was not one member of the house party, including Mrs.Gray herself, who did not feel unbounded relief that the place was so well rid of Tom Gray.
David was glad there had been no arrest, and that the mistress of the house had with so much dignity and spirit turned out the culprit.

It would have been a bad business, testifying in court against Mrs.Gray's nephew when he had been visiting in her house.
"Mrs.Gray," suggested Grace, "if you haven't made any plans this morning for us, I think we had better spend an hour or so rehearsing our surprise." "Very well, my dear, you may spend as much time as you like at it; but if I peep over the transom, or listen through a crack in the door, you mustn't scold.

I don't know that I can wait much longer to find out what it is." "No, no! You're not to come near the third story," protested Grace.

"We shall nail down the transom and stuff the keyhole with soap if you do." "I never could stand suspense," exclaimed the old lady, shaking her head until her lace breakfast cap, with its little bows of lavender ribbon, quivered all over.