It was still in the early days of the cooking club, and February's snows lay soft over the mountain sides, the smooth, open places throwing into bold relief the long rows of trees, which looked blue and hazy against their dazzling background. The town was snow-covered, too, and the frozen river, and wherever one went, the air was full of the gay jingle-jangle of countless sleighbells, while the streets were thronged with a motley collection of equipages, from the luxuriously upholstered double sleigh with its swaying robes and floating plumes, down to the shapeless home-made "pung" with its ragged, unlined buffalo skin snugly tucked in about the shawled and veiled grandma, who smilingly awaited her good man while he purchased the week's supply of groceries. Such cold, clear days, such glorious sleighing were not to be resisted; and on this particular Saturday afternoon, Katharine had driven around with Cob, to take Mrs. Adams out for an hour or two, before time for her usual call on Bridget. The day had long passed when Job could be driven on the snow. Mrs. Adams had made one or two attempts in previous winters, but the poor old animal had toddled along so gingerly, slipping and sliding in every direction, that she had resigned herself to the inevitable, and put the old horse into winter quarters, much as she did her fan, or her lace bonnet. Such a course had its disadvantages, too, for the long time of standing in his stall stiffened up Job's venerable joints to such an extent that it took him a large share of the summer to regain the free use of his members. However, Katharine had been very generous with Cob, and Mrs. Adams had had a fair share of the sleighing. That day, though she was in the midst of writing a letter when Katharine came, the gay little sleigh and the lively mustang proved too attractive, and she had thrown aside her pen and put on her fur coat without a moment's hesitation.