"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.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25