With Marlborough to Malplaquet | Page 3

roof of the coach. Then she stood by
the window and talked volubly in a rich northern brogue till the vehicle
started, and even after, for George could see her gesticulations when he
was far out of earshot.
"It is bitter cold, bairn," she had said for the third or fourth time, "and I
doubt thou wilt be more dead than alive when thy father sees thee at
Newcastle. But don't forget that pasty; 'tis good, for I made it myself.
And there's the sup of summat comforting in the little bottle; don't
forget that."
"Good-bye, aunt, and thank you over and over again," George called
from the top of the coach. "Don't stay any longer in the freezing cold.
I'm all right."
But the talkative and kindly old dame would not budge, and Blackett
could not help smiling quietly in his corner. "What a curious old
rustic!" he said to himself, "and she's the aunt, it appears." As for
George himself, he was thinking much the same thing. "A good soul,"
he murmured to himself, "but, oh, so countrified!"
Fairburn's limbs were pretty stiff by the time the grand old cathedral
and the castle of Durham standing proudly on their cliff above the river
came in sight. There was an unwonted stir in the streets of the
picturesque little city. My lord the bishop with a very great train was
coming for the Christmas high services.
"Our bishop is a prince," explained the guard, who had had not a little
talk with George on the way. "There are squires and baronets and lords
in his train, and as for his servants and horses, why--" the good fellow

spread out his hands in his sheer inability to describe the magnificence
of the bishops of Durham.
"Yes," Fairburn made answer, "and I've heard or read that when a new
bishop first comes to the see he is met at Croft bridge by all the big
men of the county, who do homage to him as if he were a king."
The guard stared at a youngster, an outside and therefore a poor
passenger too, who appeared so well informed, and then applied
himself vigorously to his horn.
The afternoon was fast waning when the coach brought to its
passengers the first glimpse of the blackened old fortress of Newcastle
and the lantern tower of St. Nicholas. Fairburn, almost as helpless as on
the previous afternoon, was speedily lifted down from his lofty perch
by the strong arms of his father.
"Ah, my dear lad," the elder cried as he hugged George to his breast,
"the mother has a store of good things ready for her bairn and for
Christmas. And here is old Dapper ready to jog back with us and to his
own Christmas Eve supper. How do you do, sir?"
These last words were addressed to a gentleman who had just driven up
in a well-appointed family equipage.
"I hope I see young Mr. Blackett well," Fairburn continued.
"Ah! 'tis you, Mr. Fairburn," said the great man condescendingly. "This
is your boy? Looks a trifle cold, don't you think? 'Tis bitter weather for
travelling outside."
And with the curtest possible nod to the father, and no recognition
whatever of the son, Mr. Blackett linked his arm in Matthew's and
strode away to his carriage.
George flushed, his father looked annoyed; then his face cleared.
"Come, lad," he said, "let us get along home."

Thursday, Christmas Day, and the Friday following passed quietly but
happily in the little Fairburn family. The father was in excellent spirits,
and he had much to tell his son of the prosperity that was at last coming.
Orders were being booked faster than the modest staff of the colliery
could execute them. Best of all, Fairburn had secured several important
contracts with London merchants; this, too, against the competition of
the great Blackett pit.
"The truth is," the elder explained, "Mr. Blackett is too big a man, and
too easy-going to attend to his business as he should. But I suppose he's
rich enough and can afford to be a trifle slack."
"Whereas my dad has energy and to spare," George put in with a smile,
"and by that energy is taking the business out of the hands of the bigger
man. The Blacketts won't be exactly pleased with us, eh?"
"They are not. And, more, I hear the Blackett pit is working only short
time; it is more than likely that several of the men will have to be
discharged soon, and then will come more soreness."
"We can't help that, dad," the boy commented, "it's a sort of war, this
business competition, it seems to me, and all is fair in love and war, as
the saying goes."
"True, my lad; yet I'm a peaceable