But nothing came of it, the
man's sound native sense presently leading him to adopt George's
opinion. Said the boy, "Where would be the good, father? Their side
got most of the broken heads anyhow, and that's enough for us." It was
a youngster's view of the case, but it had its merits.
So Fairburn grumbled and rebuilt his few wrecked sheds, his grumblings
dying out as the work proceeded. George's own thoughts were bitter
enough, however, so far as Matthew Blackett was concerned. He could
not get it out of his head that the young squire, as the folks around
styled Matthew, was at the bottom of the riot and indeed secretly its
ringleader.
A month or two passed away, and spring came. One day the elder
Fairburn, on his return from London in his collier, made a great
announcement.
"I've got you a grand place, my lad," he said. "It is in the office of
Mr. Allan, one of the finest shipping-merchants in London. 'Tis a very
great favour, and will be the making of you, if you prove to be the
lad I take you to be. You are now fifteen, and it is time you went
from home to try your fortune; in fact, you'll be all the better away
from here--for certain reasons I need not go into. You are a lucky
lad, George,--I wish I had had half your chance when I was in my
teens.
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