So Nabby, being so constituted, could not be easy on the subject this time.  All day long she heard rats and mice in the grain-chests; she stopped and listened with her broom, and she stopped and listened with her mop.

Ann went to look, indeed that was the way she smuggled the thief’s dinner to him, but her report of nothing the matter with the grain did not satisfy Nabby.  She had more confidence in Mrs. Polly.  But Mrs. Polly did not offer to investigate herself until after supper.  They had been very busy that day, washing, and now there was churning to do.  Ann sat at the churn, Mrs. Polly was cutting up apples for pies; and Nabby was washing dishes, when the rats and mice smote her deaf ears again.

“I knew I heerd ’em then,” she said; “I don’t believe but what them grain-chists is full of ’em.”

“I am going to look,” quoth Mrs. Polly then, in a tone of decision, and straightway she rose and got a candle.

Ann’s heart beat terribly.  “O, I wouldn’t go up there to-night,” said she.

“Yes; I am going.  I’m going to satisfy Nabby about the rats in the grain-chest, if I can.”

She was out the door, at the foot of the stairs, Nabby behind her, dishcloth and plate in hand, peering fearfully over her shoulder.  Ann was in despair.  Only one chance of averting the discovery suggested itself to her. She tipped over the churn. “O, oh!” she screamed.  Back rushed Mrs. Polly and Nabby, and that ended the rat-hunt for that night.  The waste of all that beautiful cream was all Mrs. Polly could think of—­prudent housewife that she was.

So in the night, when the moon was up, and the others were sound asleep, Ann assisted her thief safely out of the grain-chest and out of the house.  “But, first,” said Ann Wales, pausing bravely, with her hand on the grain-chest lid, speaking in a solemn whisper, “before I let you out, you must make me a promise.”

“What?” came back feebly.

“That you will never, never, steal a horse again.  If you don’t promise, I will give you up, now.”

“I promise I won’t,” said the man, readily.

Let us hope he never did.  That, speeding out into the clear winter night, he did bear with him a better determination in his heart.  At all events, there were no more attempts made to rob the new Horse-House at the Braintree meeting-house.  Many a Sunday after that, Red Robin stood there peaceful and unmolested.  Occasionally, as the years went by, he was tied, of a Sunday night, in Mrs. Polly Wales’ barn.

For, by and by, his master, good brave young John Penniman, married Ann Wales.  The handsomest couple that ever went into the meeting-house, people said.  Ann’s linen-chest was well stocked; and she had an immense silk bonnet, with a worked white veil, a velvet cloak, and a flowered damask petticoat for her wedding attire.  Even Hannah French had nothing finer when she was married to Phineas Adams a year later.