There was no stove in the building, as every one knows. Some of the
women had hot bricks and little foot-stoves, and that was all. Ann
did not care for either. She sat up straight in the comfortless,
high-backed pew. Her cheeks were as red as her crimson cloak, her
black eyes shone like stars. She let Mrs. Polly and Nabby have the
hot stones, but her own agile little feet were as warm as toast.
Little Hannah French, over across the meeting-house, looked chilled
and blue, but somehow Ann never seemed to be affected much by the
cold.

The Wales pew was close to a window on the south side; the side where
the new stable was. Indeed Ann could see it, if she looked out. She
sat next the window because the other women minded the draught more.

Right across the aisle from Mrs. Polly's pew was Thomas Penniman's.
He was there with his wife, and six stalwart sons. The two youngest,
Levi and John, were crowded out of the pew proper, and sat in the one
directly back.

John sat at the end. He was a tall, handsome young fellow, two or
three years older than Ann. He was well spoken of amongst his
acquaintances for two reasons. First, on account of his own brave,
steady character; and second, on account of his owning one of the
finest horses anywhere about. A good horse was, if anything, a more
important piece of property then than now. This one was a beautiful
bay. They called him "Red Robin."

To-day, Red Robin was carefully blanketed and fastened in the new
stable. John thought when he tied him there how thankful he was he
had such a good shelter this bitter day. He felt grateful to