“Here is half-a-sovereign as the master gave me for you to pay for the sacks.  Couldn’t Nancy have some of that?” inquired John, fumbling in his pocket for the coin.

Mrs. Forest took the money from his hand and placed it upon the chimney-piece, intending to put it away presently in the tea-pot in the corner cupboard, which, however, she forgot to do, otherwise this story would never have been written.

“I want all that ten shillings to get a new cocoa-matting for the front room floor,” she said, decidedly.  “The bricks strike as cold as a grave since the old matting was took up.”

“I must go and grind the turmits for the sheep, and move ’em into the other fold for the night,” said John, knocking out the ashes from his pipe and rising to go.  As he was closing the door behind him he called to his wife, “You let the cocoa-matting bide, and give Nan a shilling or two for her gloves.”

“That I shall do nothing of the sort, then,” shouted Mrs. Forest after her husband; then, turning on her daughter angrily, she asked:  “What do you want gloves at all for, I should like to know?  I don’t wear gloves; and why should you, who do nothing to earn them?”

“I shall be out of my time soon,” Nancy answered, beginning to cry; “and I will pay you back then all I have cost.”

“I daresay,” sneered her mother; “it’ll take all you can earn to deck yourself out to catch young Mr. Fred’s eyes.  Don’t you think as I’m not sharp enough to see which way the wind blows.”

“Mother!” cried Nancy, rising indignantly to her feet, her eyes flashing, her cheeks burning with shame and anger.  “How dare you talk to me so?  You have no right!”

“Haven’t I no right?” almost shrieked Mrs. Forest.  “I stand none of your impudence!” And with these words her passion so took possession of her that she leaned forward and with her open hand struck her daughter a stinging blow on one of her cheeks.  “You are fond of crying,” she said, “so take something to cry for—­for once.”

But Nancy did not cry:  she stood still, staring in a bewildered way at the burning log upon the hearth, the flame from which danced upon her reddened cheek.

Had Fred remained a little longer in the orchard, trouble might have been prevented; for he would have seen Nancy, whom Mrs. Forest sent to bring in the new linen which was bleaching.  Mrs. Forest gave her this to do, because she could not bear to see her stand so silent and dazed.  She was, indeed, heartily ashamed of the act she had committed the moment it was over, but knew what was done couldn’t be undone.  She had never struck her daughter before, and resolved never to do so again; but it did not occur to her to tell Nancy so.  Had she done so, the warm-hearted child would have responded at once to such an advance; but she only said:  “Well, well; have done staring in the fire, Nan; and run and fetch the linen from the orchard.”

Nancy obeyed mechanically, little knowing who had just left the spot, and feeling in her young heart all the bitterness of utter desolation.