"I gave you three halfpence.

Where's the change, old Tinker ?" "There!" replied Mrs.Tinker, flinging down the coin; "it's only baronets as cares about farthings." "A farthing a day is seven shillings a year," answered the M.P.; "seven shillings a year is the interest of seven guineas.

Take care of your farthings, old Tinker, and your guineas will come quite nat'ral." "You may be sure it's Sir Pitt Crawley, young woman," said Mrs.Tinker, surlily; "because he looks to his farthings.

You'll know him better afore long." "And like me none the worse, Miss Sharp," said the old gentleman, with an air almost of politeness.

"I must be just before I'm generous." "He never gave away a farthing in his life," growled Tinker.
"Never, and never will: it's against my principle.