superintending the killing and packing of the turkeys for the London
market. Nancy had made up her mind on her way home to ask her mother for
a little money to buy herself some new gloves. She resolved to make her
request at once on entering the house-place, where her mother
was--partly from a desire to get what generally proved a disagreeable
business over as soon as possible, and more, perhaps, because she saw
her father sitting smoking his pipe in the chimney-corner. John Forest
usually supported his daughter, who was a great favourite of his. He
generally called her "Sweet Nancy," because she was so pretty and
dainty, and, above all, so good-tempered--a quality he knew how to
appreciate.

"I was wondering, mother," Nancy began hesitatingly, as she removed her
hat and advanced towards the wood fire, above which Mrs. Forest was
hooking-on a huge kettle of fowls' food--"I was wondering if I might
have some new gloves for Christmas."

"And where, I should like to know, is the money for them to come from?"
demanded the mother sharply. "I want lots of things I go without. It
takes all I can scrape and spare to buy saucers for them chickens to
break. It's a shame of the master not to buy proper drinking dishes for
them; and when I asked him for some, he said your father could dig a
hole and sink the old copper-boiler in it, and fill that with water for
them, just as if he hadn't the sense to see as how every blessed chicken
'ud get drowned, and me be blamed for it, as usual."

"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.