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The Chains of an Oath
(Vitagraph)
From the Scenario of BENJAMIN BARONDESS
By EDWIN M. LA ROCHE
The sun had climbed to its height above them and hung there, a ball of brilliant heat. Those in the flat wheat field had felt its first gray coldness, its rising warmth thru the morning, and now, as they rested, they talked of its glowing anger.
Donia sat in the stubble and ate her black bread and herring hungrily. For six hours she had stood behind Gregory, with rake or binding wisp, and followed dumbly the path of his scythe. The sweep of its blade had always cut cloce to her; too close for safe labor, not close enough for careful love, yet she had heeled, like a dog, behind him. When he had stopped to join the men, she had laid her rake across his scythe and turned away alone.
She was dog-weary now, empty, and ate with animal directness. Overhead a few curlews, with their dreary whistle, winged southward. In the distance, like a burning haystack, the sun glistened on the roof of St. Damian 's.
In the hands of a gray-haired rester the strum of a balalaeca came feebly across the open. When his fingers had formed the minor chords of a folk-song, the harvesters joined him in a slow chanting guttural. It would seem the recital of things that had to be. With its continuance came passages of wailing, as of remonstrance, and sustained high notes, too, as of a striving unborn in speech.
The seeking ballad ceased in low, checked notes, and the clay bricked in the breast of the peasant girl again. She did not move as Baush, her father, crossed the field and squatted at her side. He took the hunch of neglected bread from her lap.
"Donia," he said, chewing, "why dost thou grind with the grindstone? Why art thou without words?"
She aroused herself with an effort. "Nitchevo! father, who knows!" she said slowly; "I was dreaming."
"See, see!" he said, reddening, " there is work to be done — much work. ' '
"Am I not at the point of the scythe all day?" she answered lowly.
"Yes, .yes; you step on his heels; you kiss the steel ; it is good enough ; but Gregory is angry. See! he is drinking like a fat pig. Your step always behind him, yet no words, has frightened him."
"I work to work," she said.
His mouse-like eyes blinked resentfully. "Pfoo! have a care," he growled, "you are taunting him too far."
She lapsed into dullness, as an old woman came feebly across the field from the road.
"Good health, good health!" she said in a cracked voice to Baush, and seeing the girl she continued, "and good news. ' '
"Well, old match-maker," Baush said, "what is it you bring?"
"A husband, a husband," she droned in a mincing manner. " If he blew hot last night, he may blow cold today."
"Eh, little mother, you are joking?"
"God keep me! no; it is the truth. He came to me last night and asked to arrange for Donia. Is it not nice ? ' '
Baush laughed loudly. "Gospod zuajer!" he said. "God knows if you are lying. Gregory! Gregory! Little worker ! " he shouted.
A tall man rose up from the moujiks and walked toward them with clacking boots. As he drew near them they could see the gray eyes somewhat dilated above his pitted face and broad cheek bones. He came up and stood in front of Baush so that his back would be toward Donia.
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