Rollo barked. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again.
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