The news had an extraordinary effect on Mr. Blackett. Ordering his
coach, he drove in haste to his colliery, hoisted a big flag there,
proclaimed a holiday on full pay, and sent for a copious supply of
ale. His son Matthew, who had not gone back to school at York, amused
himself and the men by firing unnumbered salvoes from a couple of
small cannon he possessed.

"Now that Billy the Dutchman is out of the way," Squire Blackett cried
exultingly, "Whiggery will soon be dead, and England will be ruled by
its rightful sovereign, who will be assisted by lords and gentlemen of
sound policy."

A huge banner was hoisted, and the Squire and his son headed a
procession to the neighbouring villages. The jubilant colliery owner
and his merry men took care to pass the Fairburn pit, with frantic
cheerings and hallooings.

"What does it all mean?" George, who was in charge in the absence of
his father, inquired of the old overlooker of the colliery.

"It means beer, George," the ancient replied, "beer and froth, and
nothing else."

"Nothing else! I hope that is a true word, Saunders, that's all. I
mislike the looks of some of those fellows."

"Why, to judge from all the whispers we hear," the overlooker
commented, "we are like enough to get our backs well hazelled before
long."