All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 126: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

836 Vera hung back when everybody else rushed to bid the bridegroom wel- come. She was observing him through the eyes of Nikolai ‘Jaroslaf and shivered. The young man shook hands all around, answering jest with jest. He was in high good humor and kept craning his neck for sight of his sweetheart. “Vera, where is little Vera?” he cried. Old Yakof, her father, pushed the white-faced girl toward him through the jostling press of relatives. ** Here she is, son,” said he. is the bashful bride!” Tomasz hugged her unaffectedly before them all, and was surprised when she finally broke away from him. He bent awkwardly and whis- pered in her ear: “We have not long now, little one.” “No,” answered she, ‘not long now.” She was thinking of Nikolai Iaros- laf and the trysting hour. ‘The prenuptial feast was served upon a long oaken trestle, with the guests seated on each side of it. There were not enough chairs to go round, so some of the people sat on boxes and some on logs of firewood, dragged in from the yard. Vera was pulled down upon her betrothed’s lap. “Sit here and I will feed you, rosy one,” he told her. She struggled futilely for a moment under the restraint of his iron arms, and then submitted passively to her position. Everybody made merry with them and indulged in the clumsy innuendos common to middle - class gatherings at such a time. “Do not mind them, dear,’ whis- pered Tomasz. “ They mean their jests in good part.” “T did not even hear what they said,” replied Vera. “I was thinking of something else.” The food was served in huge wood- en platters, from which each diner help himself generously. The loaves “Here THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. of rye bread were torn apart with the fingers, and the great smoking haunches of meat were apportioned by the knives that each man carried at his belt. There was home-brewed beer for the drinking, and each tankard held nearly a quart. It was but natural that the crowd should get more or less drunk. Tomasz, holding Vera astride of one mighty knee, fed her the choicest morsels from the platters. He would dip his hand into the ragout and pick out pieces of meat which he would force between her lips and kiss her afterward. ““No more—I cannot eat any more, Tomasz—I am not hungry to-night,”’ she would expostulate from time to time. Then he would hug her roughly and say: “You are thinking, little bride—is it not so?’ and she would answer: “Yes, I am thinking, Tiomasz.”’ When even that great quantity of food was all consumed they still drank on, The dinner rapidly assumed the semblance of an orgy. The hour grew late, and Tomasz, with the heat of much malt in his veins, grew more ardent. Vera repulsed him as well as she could. “Let me go—I am tired,” she in- sisted. “It is time that I was in bed, Tomasz.” “Daughter is right,’ cried old Yakof, pounding upon the table for silence. “The wedding is to be at nine in the morning, and it will take us a good two hours to get from here to the village where Father Ivan is to await us. So let the bride have her rest and we'll see bright eyes and rosy cheeks on her in the morning.” Tomasz assented reluctantly amid a general clapping of hands. He strained Vera to him in a good-night embrace and gloomed after her figure as it disappeared behind the door of her room. Olga, seated beside him, pulled the swain’s ears, laughing. comichooks.com.