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 fellow
who was showing him no favour, but was pounding away at the upturned
face with one of his fists, whilst with the other hand he held a firm
grip of his prostrate foeman.

"Let him get up, coward!" the lad shouted as he rushed to the spot.
"Let him get up, I tell you, and fight it out fair and square."

The fellow was by no means disposed to give up the advantage he had
obtained, however, and redoubled the vigour of his blows.

He was a strong thickset collier, not an easy man to tackle; but