to the cabin of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Wagstaff, for 
this was the night when Pete got into mischief 
that he had good reason to remember the rest of 
his life. 
Pete wanted stewed chicken and he wanted 
it badly. The full extent of his craving for this 
delicate dish can be appreciated only by those 
whose food day in and day out has been made 
up almost entirely of fat pork, grits, and corn- 
bread. Pete had learned from some of the 
other colored people that the gentlemen who 
lived on the neighboring plantation, two miles 
away, were going fox hunting for their own 
pleasure and for the entertainment of some 
northern guests who were visiting them. This 
meant that while they were away the hounds 
on that plantation would be gone and no guard 
would be left on the chicken house. By further 
inquiry Pete also learned that they would start 
shortly after the moon rose, an hour or so before 
daylight. 
Knowledge of these facts combined with Pete’s 
hunger for fowl caused him to rise from his bed 
about three o’clock and go across the fields and 
123 
