little house on the edge of a plantation half a 
mile away. Celia did washing for the white 
family up in the big house, so Pete did not have 
to worry about money. For more than seventy 
years he had been an easy-going, happy man 
with few cares and fewer worries. But this morn- 
ing his face wore a troubled expression. ‘Two 
days before he had trudged to town four miles 
away, and while there had had his fortune told. 
The woman who claimed to know all about the 
past and future history of everybody told him 
that he had been born a slave, which was true, 
and that if he now had a wife she probably was 
his second one. This also was true, and in his 
heart Pete believed every word of the dreadful 
prophecy as to his future that the bespangled 
prophet then uttered. 
“And your end will be,”’ she had said, ““when 
the Bell Buzzard comes for you.” Then she 
laughed and sent him away. 
All his life Pete had heard references to a bell 
buzzard whose dreaded ringing meant death 
to any one who heard its chimes. Although 
there were plenty of buzzards in the country, 
104 
