“Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. He moaned. 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. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. It was a grand life.
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