"'Hand down these ere trunks then,' said John. "'Hand 'n down yourself,' said the porter. "'Don't you see I can't leave my horses? Come bear a hand, my fine feller, and Miss will give you some beer,' said John, with a hoarse laugh. "The bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his breeches pockets, advanced on this summons, and throwing Miss Sharp's trunk over his shoulder, carried it into the house. "On entering the dining room by the orders of the individual in gaiters, Rebecca found that apartment not more cheerful than such rooms usually are when genteel families are out of town.... Two kitchen chairs and a round table and an attenuated old poker and tongs were however gathered round the fire place, as was a saucepan over a feeble sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread, and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black porter in a pint pot. "'Had your dinner, I suppose? It is too warm for you? Like a drop of beer?' "'Where is Sir Pitt Crawley?' said Miss Sharp majestically. "'He, he! I'm Sir Pitt Crawley. Reclect you owe me a pint for bringing down your luggage. He, he! Ask Tinker if I ayn't. Mrs. Tinker, Miss Sharp, Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman, ho ho!' "The lady addressed as Mrs. Tinker, at this moment made her appearance with a pipe and paper of tobacco, for which she had been dispatched a minute before Miss Sharp's arrival; and she handed the articles over to Sir Pitt, who had taken his seat by the fire. "'Where's the farden?' says he, '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.' ... "And so with injunctions to Miss Sharp to be ready at five in the morning, he bade her good night, 'You'll sleep with Tinker to-night,' he said, 'it's a big bed, and there's room for two. Lady Crawley died in it. Good night.'" He sums up Sir Pitt's character by saying. "He never had a taste, emotion or enjoyment, but what was sordid and foul." Sir Pitt's brother, the Rector of the parish, is represented as being almost as abominable as himself, though in a different way--