Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/198



St. Peter's Day, towards sunset, the serdar Jovan Kněžević, betook himself to his large threshing-floor, which lay behind his house. He was a small, dark man, with a rosy face and a beard which had slightly turned gray. He had donned festive attire. Over his green dolama he had flung his toka, while two silver-mounted pistols and a long knife were thrust into his belt. With his chibuk flung across his shoulders, he was stamping and tripping about on the threshing-floor. From time to time he came to a standstill and then turned once more around his shadow, in which he examined the end of the blade that projected from his belt af the upper part of his thigh.

Suddenly someone of the community called out:

"Serdar, we have come to have a chat with you for an hour or so."