THE BELL BUZZARD 
I 
NE morning at dawn a very old colored 
() man named Pete Wagstaff laid his 
fishing poles in a small rude boat, and, 
picking up a paddle, pushed out into the pond of 
Cow Heaven swamp. Along the margin rushes 
and low bushes grew in profusion. Leaves of the 
tall yellow water-lilies were abundant, with here 
and there an opening in which the black waters 
lay still and unruffled. A few hundred yards 
away loomed the dark cypress swamp. 
The boat moved slowly along until the fisher- 
man reached one of the openings that suited his 
fancy and, pushing into a particularly thick 
cluster of lilies, he turned sidewise on his seat 
and dropped his baited hook into the water. 
Old Pete lived with Aunt Celia, his wife, in a 
103 
