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urs with you?" he inquired. "I have; and if you have patience enough to sit here for half-an-hour I'll sketch it. If not, take a stroll, and you'll find me here when you return." "I can admire nature for even longer than that period, but I cannot consent to watch a sketcher of nature even for five minutes, so I'll take a stroll." In a few minutes Ned, with book on knee and pencil in hand, was busily engaged in transferring the scene to paper, oblivious of gold, and prospects, and everything else, and utterly ignorant of the fact that the Yankee digger, having become curious as to what the stranger could be about, had quitted his hole, and now stood behind him quietly looking over his shoulder. The sketch was a very beautiful one, for, in addition to the varied character of the scenery and the noble background of the Sierra Nevada, which here presented some of its wildest and most fantastic outlines, the half-ruined hut of the Yankee, with the tools and other articles scattered around it, formed a picturesque foreground. We have elsewhere remarked that our hero was a good draughtsman. In particular, he had a fine eye for colour, and always, when possible, made coloured sketches during his travels in California. On the present occasion, the rich warm glow of sunset was admirably given, and the Yankee stood gazing at the work, transfixed with amazement and delight. Ned first became aware of his proximity by the somewhat startling exclamation, uttered close to his ear-- "Wall, stranger, you _air_ a screamer, that's a fact!" "I presume you mean that for a compliment," said Ned, looking up with a smile at the tall, wiry, sun-burnt, red-flannel-shirted, straw-hatted creature that leaned on his pick-axe beside him. "No, I don't; I ain't used to butter nobody. I guess you've bin raised to that sort o' thing?" "No, I merely practise it as an amateur," answered Ned, resuming his work. "Now, that is cur'ous," continued the Yankee; "an' I'm kinder sorry to hear't, for if ye was purfessional I'd give ye an order." Ned almost laughed outright at this remark, but he checked himself as the idea flashed across him that he might perhaps make his pencil useful in present circumstances. "I'm not professional as yet," he said, gravely; "but I have no objection to become so if art is encouraged in these diggings." "I guess it will be, if you shew yer work. Now, what'll ye ax for that bit!" This was a home
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