The elder Fairburn was of a sturdy
independent character, his independence, however, sometimes asserting
itself at the expense of his manners; that at least was the way Mr.
Blackett put it. Fairburn had been thrown much in his boyhood among
the Quakers, of which new sect there were several little groups in the
northern counties. He was a firm Whig, and as firm a hater of the
exiled James II. He had made some sacrifice to send his boy to a good
school, being a great believer in education, at a time when men of his
class were little disposed to set much store by book learning.
After breakfast by candlelight next morning the passengers for the
coach assembled at the door of the inn. Blackett was already
comfortably seated among his many and ample rugs and wraps when George
Fairburn appeared, accompanied by a woman who made an odd figure in an
ancient cloak many sizes too big for her, covering her from head to
foot. It had, in fact, originally been a soldier's cloak, and had seen
much hard service in the continental campaigns under William III. The
good dame was very demonstrative in her affection, and kissed George
again and again on both cheeks, with good sounding smacks, ere she
would let him mount to the roof of the coach.
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