Those quarries, Mrs.Browne, which every one says are so valuable, and for the stone out of which receive orders amounting to hundreds of pounds, what d'ye think was the profit I made last year, according to my books ?" "I'm sure I don't know, sir; something very great, I've no doubt." "Just seven-pence three farthings," said he, bursting into a fit of merry laughter, such as another man would have kept for the announcement of enormous profits.

"But I must manage things differently soon.

Frank will want money when he goes to Oxford, and he shall have it.

I'm but a rough sort of fellow, but Frank shall take his place as a gentleman.

Aha, Miss Maggie! and where's my gingerbread?
There you go, creeping up to Mrs.
Buxton on a Wednesday, and have never taught Cook how to make gingerbread yet.