rifle 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 man, and would fain enter into no
quarrels."

On the Saturday afternoon a neighbour brought word up to the house
that there was some sort of a squabble going on down at the river
side.

"Better run along and see what is the matter, George," said the
mother. "Father's gone to the town and won't be back till supper
time."

So the boy pulled on his cap, twisted a big scarf about his neck, and
made off to the Tyne, nearly a mile away.

He found a tremendous hubbub on the wharf, men pulling and struggling
and cursing and fighting in vigorous fashion. What might be the right
or the wrong of the quarrel, George did not know, and he had not time
to inquire before he too was mixed up in the fray. The first thing
that met his eye, in truth, was one of the crew of the Fairburn
collier brig lying helpless on his back and at the mercy of a